


This City Will Kill You

by hilaryfaye



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Kirisaki Daiichi - Freeform, Other, Substance Abuse, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirisaki Pawn Shop, specializing in fake or stolen watches and illegal magical artifacts. You just have to know what to ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saltwater

Furuhashi popped the lid off of his water bottle, watching with glassy eyes as the bubbles disappeared from the surface of the water, and a dark cloud blossomed in their place. Hara, popping his gum as he waited, knew it wasn’t fresh water in there--not even something good, like booze. Just straight up seawater.

“So what’s the deal with this one?” Hara asked, leaning on the rail. An electric current hissed through the metal and snapped sparks at Furuhashi.

Furuhashi rolled his neck. Patches of silvery scales peeked out of his collar, sparkling in the low light. “Hanamiya didn’t say.”

“Yeah but you have a guess, don’t ya?” Hara yawned. It was barely four in the morning, sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. He hadn’t slept yet. “You always have a guess by the time you send ‘em off to your dear old mom.”

Furuhashi kept well away from the rail, still spitting electric sparks. He gazed out over the bay, yellow street lights at their back. “Somebody said he went after Kiyoshi.”

Hara snapped his gum again, shaking his head. “It’s always one of those fuckers,” he muttered.

Furuhashi turned, taking another long swallow of seawater. “Shop opens soon.”

“When’s it ever fucking closed?” Hara asked.

#

Kirisaki Pawn Shop sat ass-to-ass with a liquor store and an empty building with a sun-faded “For Lease” sign in the window that had been there as long as anybody could remember.

Yamazaki was watching a spider in the window when Furuhashi and Hara got back. He glanced at them, and Furuhashi made a vague gesture to indicate that the situation had been taken care of.

Hara came and leaned on the counter, grinning at Yamazaki. “Morning, Yam. Wouldn’t happen to have any of that pretty blue stuff on you?”

Yamazaki glared at him. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Dunno, three days ago, give or take?”

“Go home, you shit. Get some sleep.”

“But Yammmmm,” Hara whined. “What if boss-man wants me to do something? I’ll feel a lot better with some pepper-upper, ya know?” He stuck out his bottom lip--still stained blue.

“We don’t buy this shit so that you can drop dead in the middle of the street.”

“Then what do you buy it for?”

“Go home, Hara.” Furuhashi had taken up a creaky old chair near the counter, and was busy lighting a cigarette.

Hara made a show of pouting but dragged himself out the door, visibly fatigued. He’d likely crash hard in the next couple hours, and sleep for two days straight.

Yamazaki waited until Hara was gone before he pulled out the little jar of brilliant blue powder. “I’m half tempted to flush all this shit down the toilet.”

“Hara’d kill you. So would Hanamiya.” Furuhashi sighed, his head lolling back on his shoulders as he smoked. He stared up at the ceiling, unblinking, and took another swallow of sea water.

“The way Hara keeps using this shit he’s gonna die before then, and on our bill.” Yamazaki went to the door to flip over the closed sign. Behind the counter there was a snore.

Furuhashi’s eyes rolled to the side, spotting the source.

“He was awake about twenty minutes ago,” Yamazaki said irritably. “Must’ve known you were coming back, though. Went down just before you got here.”

Seto was on a cot behind the counter, just out of sight to anyone who didn’t know to look for him.

“He snores too much,” Furuhashi said.

“At least he doesn’t stink up this place the way you do. Always smells like fish and cigarettes.”

Furuhashi ignored him, sighing a cloud of smoke. “Where’s Hanamiya?”

“Where d’you think he is? Out back, like always. And I’d leave him there, he looked pissed.” Yamazaki glanced at im. “Bastard’s dead, right?”

Furuhashi nodded. “The girls were hungry today.” He always called them that--the girls. As if the mermaids that came poking around the docks were his friends, which Yamazaki supposed they might be. They knew one of their own when they saw them.

There was a loud explosion behind the shop, and Hanamiya came in swearing, a cloud of black smoke following him. He looked like hell, bloodshot eyes and his face a little green around the edges. He staggered through the shelves, and Furuhashi only just vacated his chair before he was sat on. Hanamiya glared at him. “Well?”

“Everything’s taken care of.”

“Good.” Hanamiya closed his eyes. Yamazaki nudged a trash can closer to the chair, just in case he was going to throw up--which right then seemed pretty likely.

Furuhashi leaned up against the counter with his cigarette, popping open the bottle of seawater again. The smoking always made him thirsty.

The taste of saltwater made him want to go back to the bay. Made his scales itch for something more substantial than air. “I’m going for a swim,” Furuhashi announced, rubbing out his cigarette on the counter, earning a scowl from Yamazaki.

“Say hi to your mom for us,” Yamazaki said, fiddling with the jars he kept in the window. Furuhashi ignored him.

It was easy enough to get back to the waterfront, following the smell of saltwater and rotting fish. Furuhashi swung the half-empty bottle as he walked, already frustrated by the constraint of clothes.

He could like the land all he wanted, like his cigarettes, but it didn’t take away the need to taste the ocean again, to slip under the water and away from the sunlight.

Furuhashi knew a little out of the way place just near the harbor where he could leave his things while he went below. He sat on the slippery rocks and pulled off his shoes, stretching feet just a little too long for his height, and scratching at the place on his throat where his gills sealed up when he was above. They had already started to open in the damp air, and ached for the water.

Silvery faces appeared in the water, grinning at him and disappearing again. Furuhashi folded his clothes carefully and leapt into the frigid water, sighing the last air out of his lungs as his gills flared open, burning with the sudden rush.

The mermaids’ laughter echoed through the water, flashes of silver darting around him faster than he could ever hope to swim. Furuhashi slid through the water, away from the shore and away from the above, down into the gloom of the bay.

His sisters were singing, delighted about something. Furuhashi followed the sound, out far past the harbor. The pod had returned, all his aunts and grandmothers and his mother, some of his older sisters, their daughters.

Many of the mermaids in the bay would go out to sea, soon. They were grown enough, now--big enough to make their way with the pod.

And Furuhashi would stay in the city.

That was what the sons always did.


	2. Threads

Hanamiya’s entire body ached. He’d been trying something new, trying to work up some new trick that would get the results he wanted--all he got was a big fucking boom.

Which--wasn’t out of the ordinary. Chaos magic was a tricky beast, and even more so when you were entirely self-taught.

He pulled himself up out of the chair, leaning heavily on the counter. “Did that piece of shit bring in what I asked him for?”

“Not yet,” Yamazaki glowered at Seto. “What about Sleeping Beauty, here?”

“He’s keeping an eye on something for me.” Hanamiya rubbed his face, and noticed the jar of blue powder on the counter. “Put that shit away before some idiot calls Regulation down on us.”  

It was called Horizon--kept you up past dawn for days on end, and worked a number on your body and brain. Regulation had done a pretty good job shutting down any production of it within the country, so places like Kirisaki had to smuggle it in.

This was the stuff that made up the bulk of their business. People lived off of Horizon, sometimes going for weeks without sleep just to get ahead with school or jobs before the toxicity killed them.

And Hanamiya knew Hara had been pinching it ever since he showed up.

As long as that electric hairball did his job, Hanamiya wouldn’t say anything, but the day Hara became a burden or a threat--well. When the morticians cut him open, he’d bleed blue.

“I’m gonna go clean up that mess out back,” Hanamiya said. “Tell me if that piece of shit comes by.”

“Yes, boss.” Yamazaki watched the spider in the window again. “That piece of shit” was only ever one of two people.

#

The Department for the Regulation of Magical Artifacts operated out of a rather nondescript building--above an insurance company and below an accounting office. Officially speaking, they were a subset of the government, but for all intents and purposes, Regulation was it’s own governmental body, overseeing the activities of apothecaries, magicians, wixes, and magical creatures alike.

And Kiyoshi Teppei had been working there for a rather long time.

“Good morning, here’s your sugar with a side of coffee,” Riko said, handing him a paper cup as she passed his desk. “You didn’t stay here all night again, did you?”

Kiyoshi smiled. “No, I only stayed a couple hours.”

Riko shook her head, sitting in the narrow plastic chair next to Kiyoshi’s desk. She was wearing jeans and a tshirt, a sure sign that she technically was supposed to have the day off, but had come by the office anyway. “People are going to start thinking you live here.”

Kiyoshi shrugged.She could scold Kiyoshi all she wanted, she was just as bad as him.

“I’m making the rounds today,” he told her. “Just off the waterfront.”

“Ugh, I hate the waterfront.” Riko sipped at her coffee. “You antagonizing the guys at Kirisaki-- it’s enough to make somebody throw themselves to the mermaids.” She glanced around the office, making sure no one was listening too closely. “Speaking of the mermaids--haven’t they seemed unusually well-fed, lately?”

“You’re supposed to have the day off,” Kiyoshi said, flicking through files on his computer. Kirisaki Pawn Shop was always under close scrutiny by Regulation, and Kiyoshi was certain they missed at least as much as they caught--but somehow Hanamiya always managed to wriggle out of being shut down or arrested.

It would have been frustrating if Kiyoshi didn’t find it so amusing.

“And let you whine about how you can’t be bothered to get your own coffee?” Riko leaned back in the plastic chair, grimacing. “When are we gonna get some decent furniture in this place?”

#

The bell on the door rang as Kiyoshi stepped into Kirisaki. Yamazaki was sitting behind the counter, as always, watching a pair of seventeen year old wixes like a hawk. He gave Kiyoshi a short nod, and said, “Hanamiya’s out back.”

Kiyoshi nodded and smiled at him, earning a glare, before he strolled back to the door that had “Employees Only” scrawled across it in black marker.

“Good morning,” Kiyoshi said.

“It’s one in the afternoon,” Hanamiya spat without looking up. He was cleaning up something that looked suspiciously like an exploded stereo and a handful of destroyed cassette tapes.

The alley behind Kirisaki was battle-scarred from failed experiments, blackened by explosions and pocked with craters here and there. It was blocked off from the street on either side by piles of old, rotting furniture stacked behind dumpsters. Hanamiya’s own workshop.

“Ah, guess I’m a little behind schedule.” Kiyoshi leaned up against the wall. “Looks pretty lonely in there.”

Hanamiya eyed him. “Furuhashi went calling on his dear old mom and Hara’s catching up on some sleep. Why do you care?”

“Mermaids in the harbor have been getting a bit soft around the edges lately,” Kiyoshi said. “Thought you might have an idea about it.”

Hanamiya snorted, picking up a broom. “What the hell do I care what those fish fuckers do? Somebody’s dumb enough to get too close to them, they deserve to be eaten.”

Kiyoshi shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. So who was it this time?”

Hanamiya’s jaw tightened. “None of your damn business.” He swung the broom too hard and sent a chunk of misshapen plastic flying.

Kiyoshi put his hands in his pockets. “You talked to Imayoshi, lately?”

“Not if I have to. Piece of shit can go have a cuddle with some jellyfish for all I care.”

Kiyoshi picked under his fingernails. “So the fact that Seto’s snoring behind the counter has nothing to do with any deliveries you might be receiving soon.”

Hanamiya picked up his dustpan, emptying it in a battered trashcan. “Where’s your partner?” he asked. “The one who always looks like she just stepped in dog shit.”

“She only looks like that when she’s here,” Kiyoshi replied mildly. “She had the day off.”

Hanamiya snorted. “The two of you would work yourselves to death if Regulation let you.” He tossed the broom haphazardly into a heap of discarded appliances. Something hissed sparks.

“Is that healthy?” Kiyoshi asked. Chaos magic had never been an area of interest for him, but he was fairly certain throwing ones tools about wasn’t a good idea.

“It’s fine,” Hanamiya said. “You wanna come in for a drink?”

#

Seto’s snores had quieted somewhat. Yamazaki sat with arms folded on his stool behind the counter, while Kiyoshi and Hanamiya had a drink in the office. He rubbed his jaw, keeping an eye on the two young wixes who were looking around.

He doubted they were really there for anything but easing their boredom, but that in itself could be a dangerous thing.

Yamazaki ran his fingertips over the counter. Strands of trick like a spider’s web wound all through the shop, wrapped around each and every item that might offer some temptation for a thief. Anything somebody touched, he would know.

Seto made a sound and yawned, stretching. Yamazaki didn’t look at him, eyeing the teenagers between the shelves. “What is it?”

“Boss’s favorite person is on his way,” Seto said, sitting up, “and he’s got somebody with him.”

Yamazaki glanced. “Not the old guy, is it?”

“Nah, somebody else. Don’t know him.” Seto stood, rolling his shoulders. “He’s got something, besides what the boss asked for.”

“Go tell him,” Yamazaki said, still running his fingers over the counter.

Seto yawned again, and shambled over to the office, knocking on the door. “Boss,” he said. “Delivery’s coming.”

#

A moody drizzle had come over the city by the time Furuhashi pulled himself out of the harbor, shrugging damp clothes on, hiding again the misshapen patches of silver scales, rasping a little as his gills sealed against the air again. He dipped his water bottle under the edge, filling up on seawater once more, and began his walk back to the shop.

He could live his whole life in this city and never meet one of his brothers outside of the harbor. He didn’t know the names they had chosen for themselves, didn’t know what they did.

He didn’t care.

#

Hanamiya had forcibly ejected Kiyoshi from the shop when he heard Seto’s announcement. The two young wixes had been ushered out, having purchased an astrological watch and an old tarot deck with a bad temper.

The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the roof and rushing through the gutters. Furuhashi was sitting very still by the door, staring aimlessly through the shop. Seto was polishing something that hissed when he touched it, and Yamazaki busied himself testing the threads around the shop, eyeing the door.

Hanamiya sat in the office, and spoke to no one.

There were plenty of people braving the rain, meaningless shapes pulling their collars over their ears or bowing umbrellas against the wind, but Yamazaki always knew when that bastard was coming down.

He could feel the way the city bent around him, concrete and steel humming as he passed. It made Yamazaki’s ears ring, gave him a headache.

You had to be watching to see the guy step out of what should have been--what was--a solid brick wall. He dusted off the front of his jacket and reached back through the wall, pulling along someone else, a bit shorter and slimmer, who looked dazed. “He’s here.”

He didn’t have an umbrella, but Imayoshi Shouichi wasn’t even the slightest bit damp when he stepped out of the rain and into Kirisaki Pawn Shop.

Yamazaki’s ears rang as if someone had clapped him around the head. His scowl deepened as he struggled to keep his vision clear and focused on Imayoshi. Bastard did it on purpose, he was sure of it.

Imayoshi smiled at him. “Good afternoon, Yamazaki,” he said. “Is Hanamiya around?”

Yamazaki’s head throbbed. “Fuck you.”

Furuhashi was staring at the guy Imayoshi had brought with him. He seemed a bit twitchy, jumping at the slightest noise. “Who’s this?”

“Ah, this is my new friend,” Imayoshi said, smiling. “Sakurai.”

“H-hello.” Sakurai fidgeted, wringing his hands and looking around.

Yamazaki glanced at Sakurai suspiciously. It was a bit hard to tell through the haze of pain behind his eyes, but he thought he could see something there. “Boss,” he called.

“Ah, there’s no need,” Imayoshi said. “I’ll show myself in.”

“Like hell you will.” Hanamiya stood in the door, arms crossed. “Have you got it?”

“Tsk, so rude, Makoto,” Imayoshi said, still smiling. “Of course I have.”

Hanamiya stepped to the side, allowing Imayoshi into the office. He slammed the door so hard Yamazaki could feel the wall shudder.

There was no point in trying to listen in. Yamazaki himself had put the tricks around the place. Imayoshi had left his “friend” out in the shop, so that Sakurai was fidgeting in his chair while Furuhashi stared at him.

Without Imayoshi’s headache-inducing presence, Yamazaki could get a feel for things.

He traced his fingers over the countertop, the threads of trick investigating Sakurai, winding unseen through the air. One brushed over Sakurai’s arm. No one should have been able to feel it.

But Sakurai flinched.

Yamazaki jerked back the threads, his eyes narrowing. Sakurai stared back at him.

“What the hell are you?”

#

Makoto poured drinks for both of them, something that glimmered faintly green. Imayoshi recognized it as something cheap, only marginally better than piss. He clucked his tongue. “Is this what you drink these days?”

Makoto ignored him, dropping into the same creaky old chair he’d always had and knocking back the entire glass, grimacing. “So where is it?”

Imayoshi swirled his glass, wondering if he should actually risk taking a drink. “I thought we might chat. It’s been quite a while since I’ve heard what you were up to.”

Makoto snorted. “Like you don’t have half the city spying on me and my guys. We don’t need to have a fucking ‘chat.’” He threw his glass against the wall, though it shattered before it even hit. Pieces of glass scattered across the floor. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring that old man here.”

“He’s hardly very old,” Imayoshi replied, sipping at the drink. It tasted foul, but he had better manners than to spit. “There was no point in bringing Harasawa here.” He set the glass aside, smiling at Makoto.

Makoto’s scowl only deepened. “Where the fuck is it, Imayoshi?”

Imayoshi sighed and reached into his jacket, pulling out a bundle wrapped in black fabric. He laid it on the desk and looked at Makoto expectantly. “What you asked for, and some besides. My payment?”

Makoto flipped the fabric open, staring at the tiny things in the center. To anyone who didn’t know, they didn’t look very special. Pewter rings, only just big enough for a child’s fingers, with letters engraved in each of them. They hummed with trick.

Then one of them, silver, big enough around it could have fit over Hanamiya’s thumb. He stared at it, wondering what the hell Imayoshi was playing at. “I’m not paying you any extra for that.”

“Of course not,” Imayoshi murmured.

Hanamiya reached into his desk, pulling out an envelope and tossing it across the desk to Imayoshi.

Imayoshi opened the top and thumbed through the bills, counting them. He put the envelope into the pocket that had previously held the rings, nodding at Makoto. “I look forward to doing business with you again.”

Makoto swallowed another drink. “Get the fuck out.”

Makoto’s counter boy was staring suspiciously at Sakurai when Imayoshi stepped out into the shop. The fish-eyed mermaid’s son gazed at Imayoshi without a blink, puffing on his cigarette.

“Sakurai,” Imayoshi said, “it’s time to go.”

Sakurai nodded and got to his feet, trailing after Imayoshi, letting the door bang shut behind them.

A bus slid by in the rain, it’s wheels throwing up splashes of filthy grey water. Imayoshi reached into his pocket, pulling out a slim dark cigarette. “Well?”

Sakurai stared down the street. “One of them suspects.”

“Good. Let them wonder.” He lit his cigarette and blew smoke out into the rain. “We have business to attend to.”

 


	3. Smoke

Hara was sprawled face down on the floor, using a wadded up coat as a pillow. He was drooling, saliva a faint blue color that was smeared on his cheek. His hair was pushed back, so that Furuhashi could see Hara’s closed eyes, eyelashes against his cheek.

He had seen Hara’s eyes only twice. They were grey.

Furuhashi sat on the moldy-smelling sofa and drank a beer, waiting for Hara to wake up.

Hara snored and kicked in his sleep, his bare foot making contact with the cord of a lamp. The lamp sputtered, lighting up and then going dark when Hara curled up, pulling an arm over his eyes. The jacket crackled with static.

Furuhashi stretched out on the sofa, taking a swallow of beer. His scales itched, but he was trying to ignore it.

Hara was the last to come to Kirisaki. Some random fuck that Hanamiya found on a street corner, blowing out traffic lights for a laugh. Nobody knew where he came from or why he was electric, and Hara never offered to tell.

He liked dodging Regulation and making chaos wherever he went, so he was a natural fit with the group. Hara Kazuya just walked in and acted like the guys were already his friends.

Didn’t even hesitate when he found out Furuhashi was a mermaid’s son. “Cool, man, does that mean you can breathe underwater?”

Furuhashi had tugged his collar down to show Hara his sealed gills, and Hara had grinned. “Awesome!” No wariness, no suspicion that Furuhashi might kill and eat him in the middle of the night. Just ‘can you breathe underwater’.

Another swallow of beer and Furuhashi closed his eyes, remembering the smell of blood in the water.

He understood what it was to crave a drug.

Hara made a sound and rolled over, rubbing his face. “I feel like shit.”

Furuhashi sat up. “You were asleep for a day and a half this time.” The record was three days, give or take a couple of hours.

The curtain of hair was over Hara’s eyes again so Furuhashi couldn’t see what was undoubtedly a bleary stare. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Hungry?”

“Fucking starving.”

Furuhashi nodded. “Shower or something. I’ll go get food.”

#

“What the fuck.”

Seto nodded. “What the fuck,” he agreed. The two of them had been puzzling over the silver ring in the office, while Hanamiya had a rare day behind the counter. Hanamiya didn’t know what it was, and they didn’t know what it was--and for that reason it wasn’t going to leave the office until they did.

The pewter rings were already carefully tucked away in the shop, for sale to a particular client who had an interest in obtaining them.

“There might be some kind of record at Regulation,” Seto said.

“But how do we get it without tipping them off that we have something?” Yamazaki asked. He hated Regulation offices. Gave him the creeps.

“I know, I know.” Seto had the ring in the palm of his hand, still sitting in the fabric it had been wrapped in. No one wanted to touch it, just in case something happened.

“What if it has something to do with that jumpy little freak?” Yamazaki asked. He still hadn’t let go of that encounter with Sakurai, and it didn’t seem like he was going to anytime soon. It was getting on Seto’s nerves.

Seto gave him a glance. “Really?”

“I’m just saying.” Yamazaki folded his arms. “Things that come unsolicited from Imayoshi are always bad news.”

Seto shrugged and wrapped up the ring again, putting it into the envelope. “I’ll see if I can get into Regulation archives, nose around a bit.”

“How the hell are you going to do that?”

“With my charming smile,” Seto said. “How do you think?”

Yamazaki rolled his eyes. “Have fun with your nap.”

Seto smiled and left the office, stretching out on his cot behind the desk. Hanamiya glanced down at him. “Try not to snore too loud.”

“Of course, boss,” Seto said, rolling over on his side. “Anything you say.”

#

To people who didn’t do it, what Seto did wasn’t terribly dangerous. Go to sleep, walk around the city without anyone seeing you. No big deal.

Except that the more you did it, and the longer you did it, the harder it was to wake up. Bodies were heavy, hard to deal with. Walking around like a ghost was so much easier.

Seto shook off the body he called his, and slid out into the street. Everything felt hazy, like a heavy fog was laid over the city. He blinked, and opened his eyes to the front of Regulation offices.

Now the fun part.

Regulation had defenses against people like him, but every defense had its weak spots. You just had to know where to look.

And to do it without being noticed.

#

Hara shoved food into his face, barely chewing anything. Furuhashi sat by the window and smoked, watching Hara demolish several bags of cheap fast food. “Dude,” Hara mumbled around a mouthful of fries, “aren’t you hungry?”

“I ate.”

“Cool, whatever.” Hara wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He’d showered, at least, so he wouldn’t smell like mold and sweat. “We got a job to do yet?”

“Not until you’ve finished eating.”

“Whatever, Mom.”

Furuhashi stared at the dirty window, with it’s view of a row of dumpsters, tapping ash onto the sill. A thin, scraggly ghoul was picking through the trash, looking for food. It didn’t notice Furuhashi watching.

Hara’d run himself to death if he could.

“Did I sleep through the delivery?” Hara asked.

“Yes.”

“Fuck. I miss pissing off that stuck-up asshole.” Hara packed another handful of fries into his mouth. His hair was starting to stand on end, static snapping through the strands.

“He had somebody with him.”

“Huh?”

“Imayoshi. He’s got somebody new.” Furuhashi rubbed out his cigarette. “Somebody named Sakurai.”

Hara was looking at him. “What’d boss say?”

“Nothing.”

“What happened to the old guy?”

Furuhashi shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Mm.” Hara stood, kicking food wrappers out of his way. “I wanna go do something, dude.”

“Good,” Furuhashi said, getting to his feet. “Because we’re gonna go see what we can find out about this Sakurai Ryou.”

Hara jumped, throwing a fist in the air. “Alright!”

#

Riko came in with a cup of coffee in each hand, yawning. Hers was larger than usual. “Sorry, I was up all night looking at case files.”

Kiyoshi nodded, taking his coffee from Riko. “I can cover for you if you need.”

“No, no,” she waved a hand. “I just need a little while. Caffeine to hit the bloodstream and all that.” She looked at Kiyoshi with dark circles under her eyes. “How were your rounds?”

“Same as always.” Kiyoshi leaned back in his chair. “Hanamiya asked after you.”

Riko arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’ll have to come along next time,” Kiyoshi said, smiling.

“Maybe I’ll give you a little nudge off the end of a pier.” Riko sipped her coffee. “Remember I was telling you yesterday--”

“About the mermaids, I know.” Kiyoshi handed her a file. “I took the liberty of asking a few questions about that while I was out on my rounds.”

Riko flipped through the papers, coffee still in hand. “What the hell is the pod doing coming back in this time of year? They’re not supposed to be in the bay until summer.”

“Dunno. There’ve been some storms down south, but it didn’t look bad enough to push them back north this soon.” Kiyoshi shrugged. “Might be their brothers up on the land have been bringing them food, knowing the pod was coming early.”

“Might be. Or might be your chums down at Kirisaki are bumping off the competition. They’ve got a mermaid’s son with them.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

“Half the city has a mermaid in their family tree,” Kiyoshi said. “And those are just the ones we have records on.”

Riko made an unconvinced sound, but she closed the file. Her eyes wandered across the office to the front entrance. “Well, hello,” she said, “who have we here?”

Kiyoshi turned in his chair. “Hello,” he said. “Been a long time since we’ve seen your face around here.”

Imayoshi’s smile was sharp as a knife. “I’d like to have a private word with you, if I could.” He was wearing the same long black coat he always did. The kind that looked expensive even if it wasn’t particularly remarkable.

Kiyoshi stood, gesturing the door. “Sure. Riko, can you cover for me?”

“If you’re not back in an hour I’m sending the entire department out looking for you.” Riko glared at Imayoshi over her coffee.

“I promise to return him safe and sound and before curfew,” Imayoshi said. Riko turned her chair pointedly in the opposite direction. “I don’t think your mother likes me,” Imayoshi said as they moved toward the stairs.

“Don’t let her hear you call her that.” Kiyoshi nodded to the secretaries at the front desk as he left, pulling his jacket on. “She has reason not to trust you.”

“And you don’t?” Imayoshi was already pulling out a cigarette.

“I didn’t say anything.” Kiyoshi shook his head when Imayoshi offered him a cigarette. “So to what do I owe the honor of your company?” he said as they hit the sidewalk. The wind brought the bay to them, thick with the smell of people and cigarettes and gasoline. “Haven’t seen you since…”

Imayoshi waved a hand in the air, nodding. “Have you spoken to Makoto lately?”

Kiyoshi gazed at him. “Why do you ask?”

Imayoshi lit his cigarette. “I took him a delivery recently. Drank the whole time he was there.”

“That’s probably just you.”

Imayoshi didn’t look at Kiyoshi. “Ah.”

“I’m surprised he’s doing business with you.”

“Reluctantly, I assure you.” Imayoshi glanced at him, no more smirks now. “How’ve you been?”

Kiyoshi shrugged. “Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

They looked at each other. Kiyoshi turned, looking across the street. “Are you still seeing Harasawa?”

“No.”

“Mm.”

“Are you and Makoto still?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a cigarette?”

Kiyoshi shook his head. He was still trying to guess why Imayoshi was there. Why Imayoshi would turn up out of the blue just to ask about Hanamiya, after he was the one that left.

“While you’re here,” Kiyoshi said, “do you know anything about the mermaids?”

Imayoshi shook his head. “I don’t mix myself up in their business. Makoto can do what he likes, but I don’t trust anything that can’t drown.” Imayoshi eyed him. “Noticed the pod came in, huh?”

“I thought you didn’t get mixed up in their business.”

“I know people who do.” He dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk and ground it under the heel of his boot. “You might visit that siren down by the waterfront. The one that hangs around with that fortune teller with the pretty fingers. It’s a fucking circus down there, I’m surprised Regulation hasn’t smashed it up yet.” Imayoshi smiled. “But that’s your district, isn’t it, Teppei?”

Kiyoshi glanced at him. “I know who you mean. I’ll ask around.”

“I don’t envy you your job one bit, Teppei.” Imayoshi put his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Going around, enforcing rules. My offer’s still open, you know.”

“Somehow working for your ex sounds like a terrible idea.”

Imayoshi shrugged. “If you say so.” He tucked a cigarette into Kiyoshi’s shirt pocket and smirked at him. “But if you change your mind you know where to find me.” He gave a mock bow and turned down the street, disappearing into the nearest wall.

It was annoying, how he did that--leaping through the city like it was his own personal playground.

Kiyoshi sighed, and turned back into the office.

“Well, he didn’t kidnap you, at least,” Riko said as Kiyoshi sank into his chair behind his desk. “What’d he want?”

Kiyoshi shook his head.

“Ah.” Riko swirled her coffee cup. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

 


	4. Rust

“I think I’m gonna hurl, man.” Hara leaned his forehead against a wall, closing his eyes. It was cold and his stomach was doing somersaults in his gut.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t try to eat fifteen pounds of fast food at once.” Furuhashi pulled Hara off the wall, only wincing a little as electricity snapped at him.

Hara yanked his arm out of Furuhashi’s grasp, fumbling through his pockets for some gum. Sparks snapped from his teeth. “I fucking wish I were high,” he mumbled, staring at the sidewalk so he didn’t have to look at Furuhashi.

Furuhashi didn’t answer him, unfolding an umbrella. Tailing anyone who worked for Imayoshi was never an easy task. They moved through brick and concrete as if it were water, slipped in and out of shadows. The bones of the city moved for Imayoshi, the way that people would move for Hanamiya or Kiyoshi.

Sakurai Ryou went a lot of places alone. He apologized profusely for anything and everything--bumping into people, coughing, tripping over his own feet. It was annoying just to watch. Hara snapped his gum. “Can’t we just knock him out and interrogate him or something?”

Furuhashi shook his head, and Hara groaned. Furuhashi glanced at him. “You said you wanted to do something.”

“Yeah, something that wasn’t boring as fuck.” Hara rubbed his nose on his sleeve. At least he didn’t have a nosebleed--Horizon did foul things to the little blood vessels just under your skin. He had at least half a dozen bruises that came and went as they pleased. “I don’t see what this asshole could do that would have Yam so spooked.”

Furuhashi didn’t answer. They had followed Sakurai into a bar, and were nestled into a shadowy corner, watching as Sakurai sat at the counter, shoulders hunched and bent over his drink. Furuhashi drank out of his bottle of saltwater, but Hara got some appallingly strong drink and pulled a baggy out of his pocket, putting some powder into the drink that turned it almost black.

Furuhashi glanced at the drink, but didn’t say anything.

He never asked about all the things Hara was doing.

Hara took a long swallow and sat back in his chair. His face went pleasantly soft as colors took on a new hue, and he smiled. “What’s with that fucker anyway? What happened between him and the boss?”

He meant Imayoshi. Furuhashi lit a cigarette, keeping an eye on Sakurai. “They used to be together.”

“Was that before or after the fuck from Regulation?”

“During.” Furuhashi never took his eyes off Sakurai, so he didn’t notice Hara staring at him. “All three of them were together. Hanamiya was hardly ever at the shop, it was always Seto and Yamazaki, and I would run errands.” Smoke curled from Furuhashi’s mouth. “They all broke up a few months before Hanamiya brought you on.”

Hara’s head lolled back and he stared at the ceiling. “Huh.”

“Look,” Furuhashi said. “He’s doing something.”

Hara rolled his head to the side. Sakurai was sitting up straight, staring intently across the bar at a man who had just come in the door, someone in Regulation clothes and glasses. Whoever it was didn’t seem to notice Sakurai as he took off his long coat and said hello to someone already sitting at a table.

Sakurai didn’t blink. His mouth twisted into something like a frown.

The man he was staring at made a choking sound and reached for his throat, eyes widening in fear, spewing up blood. He didn’t even have time to choke on it before he collapsed to the floor, and chaos erupted.

Furuhashi and Hara looked at Sakurai, still sitting at the bar. Sakurai sipped his drink, and stared back.

#

If the archivists at Regulation noticed anything amiss, it was little more than an odd draft, and boxes not being where they should have been.

Seto slid through archive shelves, hunting for the information he wanted, keeping an eye on his exit. It was little more than a metaphysical crack in the wall, but as long as Regulation didn’t know it was there, he had a way to get in and out without being noticed. If they sealed it while he was inside, he would have to break out and run.

He didn’t expect to see Kiyoshi in the archives. Seto paused, looking over Kiyoshi’s shoulder, careful not to get too close. You never knew for sure just how much Kiyoshi could do, so it was best to hang back.

“...traditionally, sirens and mermaids have worked together to hunt unwary sailors by wrecking ships upon rocky coastlines.”

And what did Kiyoshi want to know about mermaids and sirens? Seto frowned--or would have, had he had the use of a face, at the time.

“Teppei,” a voice said. Kiyoshi looked up, and Seto followed his look. His partner was standing at the end of the shelves, looking pale.

“What is it?” Kiyoshi asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Hyuuga,” Riko said. “Someone killed him.”

Kiyoshi stood. “What?”

“In the middle of a bar, people say he just collapsed, but, well--you should come see this.”

Kiyoshi left with her. Seto debated for a moment if he should follow them, to have something to tell Hanamiya about. He remembered his only way out, and decided it would be better to get the information he came for, while he still could.

Still, he would mention it to Hanamiya. Anything that could shake Regulation would be worth talking about.

#

Kiyoshi was very quiet as they walked down to the waterfront, far from his usual chatty self. Riko wasn’t sure if she wanted to break the silence--they’d worked with Hyuuga a long time. It would have been one thing if he’d just died, but what had been done to him was another thing entirely.

It was like someone had gone scissor-happy with his insides. Things were severed for no reason at all, sliced to pieces. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it.

And they had to keep it hushed up, Regulation was putting all information about Hyuuga’s murder on lockdown until they could figure out who--or what--had killed him.

Until then, they had to go about like it was business as usual.

“You don’t have to come,” Riko said, “I know you and him were close. I can do the interview on my own.”

Kiyoshi shook his head. “No. You know the rules.”

“The rules never stopped you before.” But Riko understood. The last thing Kiyoshi wanted right now was to be able to brood. If he couldn’t talk about it, he at least needed to be able to do his job.

She felt the same way.

“So this siren,” Riko said, “what makes you think he’ll tell us anything?”

“I don’t know,” Kiyoshi admitted. “But we have to start somewhere.” The breeze coming off the bay carried with it the cries and shrieks of the pod, echoing oddly down the streets.

Like all things on the waterfront, the bar seemed to be in a state of half decay, rust and rot winding through the building, creaking in the wind. The stage itself was the only thing in decent upkeep, with a central beam on which the siren perched, talons curled around old wood.

He preened feathers that gleamed like gold, and cast a few experimental notes into the air. The room shivered with them, and Kiyoshi knew these performances to be beautiful, but they were nothing compared to a true siren song. Like a drug, enough to drive men to madness.  

The siren looked over his wing at Kiyoshi and Riko, recognizing their Regulation pins. “The owner is in his office,” he said, turning away in disinterest.

“It’s actually you we came to talk to,” Riko said, sidling up to the stage. “Kise Ryouta, isn’t it?”

Kise eyed them a moment, shifting on his perch. Kiyoshi had never been a regular of this particular bar, but he knew why people came. It wasn’t for the drinks, which were piss, and god knew it wasn’t for the atmosphere.

It had always been for the siren.

“What’s this about?” Kise asked.

“We wanted to ask you if you knew anything about the mermaids,” Riko said, “and about why the pod is back so early.”

Kise smiled, and looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, Midorimacchi!” He crooned.”Regulation wants to know about the mermaids!”

The first impression of the man who ducked out from behind the curtain was only that he was tall and somber. He wore crisp white gloves, and it occurred to Kiyoshi that this must be the “fortune teller with the pretty hands” that Imayoshi had mentioned. Midorima looked at Kise, and then at Kiyoshi and Riko. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look pleased to see them.

Kise folded his wings at his sides, smiling at Riko. “So what brings you to a bird to ask questions about fishes?”

Riko gave him an annoyed look. “Don’t be coy with me, Kise, we know your flock hunts with the pod.”

Kise shrugged. “So my mothers and their mothers have a mutual agreement, what does that have to do with me?”

“We just want to know why they’re back so early,” Kiyoshi said, though he was looking at Midorima. The fortune teller had been staring at him intently, almost without blinking, standing close to the siren. Kise bent, depositing his chin on Midorima’s head, just smiling.

“You build your palaces on the sand and the sea will swallow it up,” Midorima said in a low voice.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Riko asked.

“You can hear it on the wind,” Kise said, “the sea’s stirring, and the mermaids know it. This whole city is run through with rust.”

“Your friend will know it,” Midorima said, still looking at Kiyoshi. “The one who bends the city around him like water.”

Kiyoshi grimaced. “He’s not my friend.”

Midorima shrugged. “Once.” His eyes shifted to Riko. “The both of you stink of death.”

Riko bristled.

“The mermaids,” Kiyoshi pressed, “what can you tell us about the pod?”

Kise straightened up, ruffling his feathers. He gleamed like gold. “They’re waiting for a wave.”

#

“We should have arrested that glorified chicken,” Riko snarled under her breath. “He’s a siren, I’m sure more than a few of his patrons have vanished without a trace.”

“We don’t have anything we can charge him with,” Kiyoshi said.

“Disturbing the peace,” Riko suggested, “obstructing an official investigation, being a feathered pain in the ass.” She noticed Kiyoshi’s face and went quiet. “Hey, lets get coffee before we go back to the office. Won’t do us any good to mope around that grey-walled hellhole.” She tried to smile, but they were both feeling the strain.

Midorima had said something, before they left. “The three of you,” he said, looking at Kiyoshi, “you’re in waters too deep.”

“The three of us?” Kiyoshi asked.

Midorima nodded. “The one who walks through the bones of the city, and the one who crawls along its belly, and you.”

Kiyoshi’s jaw was still tight, wondering what that fortune teller knew. It was more than probable that Imayoshi was in this bar often as not, and that would be how Midorima knew.

Still, his gut told him that wasn’t the case. Imayoshi didn’t care for fortune tellers, and he distrusted sirens, and anything else that muddled the head.

What business did Midorima have dragging up that old mess?

Riko pulled Kiyoshi to a little cafe, where they shared hot coffee in silence, then another, and then just sat, watching the city street.

“What d’you suppose he meant by a wave?” Kiyoshi asked.

“I dunno,” Riko said, “but I don’t like it.”

 


	5. Fuse

Hara’s eyes were glazed over, comfortably high. He and Furuhashi were crouched in the subway station, Furuhashi scratching out some sigil on the concrete with a bit of chalk. Hara got a pleasant rush of electricity every time a train passed, making his hair stand on end, pale lightning threading through the strands. People glanced at them and then walked by a little faster.

Hara thought it would be nice like this, just the two of them.

That shivery tingling feeling began to climb up his spine, signalling the approach of a train. Lightning began at his fingertips, began to climb up his arms. Furuhashi was still scratching out the design, his arm moving in broad, lazy strokes.

No one else at Kirisaki worked in sigils the way Furuhashi did. Hanamiya made them up as he went along, Seto had an old one on his cot, but otherwise didn’t bother with them, and Yamazaki didn’t like sigil magic at all. Said it was too rigid.

But Furuhashi’s sigils weren’t like those in the books. Hara had never seen anything like them; they were precise, but they weren’t sharp. They flowed, more like anemones than sigils, with lines and loops folding one in over the other.

Furuhashi paused, inspecting his work, and stood. “Alright,” he said to Hara. “Are you ready?”

Hara groaned and stood, sucking in a breath. The train that had pulled into the station started to depart, and that rush surged up his spine again. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Send a message to Imayoshi,” Furuhashi said, “same way he sent one to us. That’s what Hanamiya sent us to do.”

“Right,” Hara said, rolling his shoulders, and stepping into the middle of the sigil. He grinned. “Haven’t tried something like this in years.”

Furuhashi scratched at his throat, sitting on the concrete. “Have fun.”

Hara kicked off his shoes, tossing them outside of the sigil. A train began to approach. Sparks spouted from the edges of the sigil, climbing higher as the train rattled nearer.

There wasn’t a thing that went on in that city that Imayoshi didn’t hear about.

Hara rolled his shoulders again, pulling on the electricity from the railway. Bolts climbed higher, white-blue lightning rising up to the very ceiling. Hara was dimly aware of people shouting, some kind of cease and desist being yelled at him.

Mostly he noticed Furuhashi, just sitting there, watching him.

“Notice this, motherfucker,” he muttered, and threw a hand into the air.

#

Seto cracked his neck. “Heard there was a big explosion in Northeast.” He glanced at Hara. “You wouldn’t know anything about that?”

“Dunno what you mean,” Hara mumbled around a mouthful of fries. Furuhashi was smoking in a corner. They were sitting around Hanamiya’s desk in the office, drinking and comparing notes. Yamazaki had closed up the shop for the day, and was busy prepping for nightfall.

You couldn’t trust the things that roamed the streets at night.

“Collapsed half the subway tunnel,” Seto went on, leaning back against the wall with a yawn. “Somebody doing weird sigil work, I heard.”

“Yeah, and what about you?” Hanamiya asked, pacing. “You find anything out about this bullshit?” He gestured the box where the silver ring was being kept for the time being.

“Not much,” Seto admitted. “But I don’t think it’s meant to cause harm.”

Furuhashi twirled his cigarette through his fingers. “Hara and I followed Sakurai to a pub. He killed someone, that glasses fuck that was always hanging around with Kiyoshi.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Didn’t touch him. Didn’t even do any spells, as far as I could see. Just looked at him, like he was seeing right through him.”

“Next thing we know,” Hara interjected, still with his mouth half full, “Glasses was puking up blood and then he was dead.”

Hanamiya kicked a chair into the wall. “What the _fuck_ does that asshole think he’s playing at?” Unwarranted gifts from Imayoshi, this new tag-along of his who flinched at sudden movements but could kill a man just by looking at him--none of it made any sense, and it was pissing Hanamiya off.

“Boss,” Seto said, “can I talk to you for a second?”

“Yeah, yeah. The rest of you get out of here. Get some sleep or whatever the fuck it is you do when you’re not here.” Hanamiya leaned against the window sill as the others picked themselves up and got out. Furuhashi crushed his cigarette in the palm of his hand, and took a long swallow of sea water as he walked out the door.

“You,” Yamazaki said to Hara, _“sleep.”_

“I’ve already been sleepin’, Zaki.”

“I swear to God if I have to hit you over the head--” The door swung shut behind them.

Seto stood, stretching. “Boss,” he said in a low voice, “far as I can tell, all that ring is is a gift.”

“Bullshit,” Hanamiya said.

“That was the first time he even set foot in the store after what happened--”

“Yeah and he’s lucky I was feeling charitable and didn’t kill him.”

“Boss.”

Hanamiya looked at Seto. It had just been them, at first, running this shit little pawn shop, selling stolen watches and drugs and old tarot decks. When Yamazaki came on they were able to expand, sell riskier magical items. Then Furuhashi turned up one day, didn’t have anything more than the clothes on his back and a pack of cigarettes, said he’d take care of any business that needed to be dealt with quietly. And then the newest acquisition, that loose cannon who was going to get himself killed one of these days.

But it had always, always been Hanamiya and Seto’s shop.

“What?”

“All I’m saying is, this thing--” He gestured the box. “--I’d put money on it being Imayoshi’s way of saying sorry.”

Hanamiya snorted, and shook his head.

“The way the three of you were, before all that shit went down--I mean, fuck, Makoto, you were together for years--I’m just saying I wouldn’t be surprised if he misses it.”

“He made his bed,” Hanamiya said. “He doesn’t like lying in it that’s his own business.”

Seto shrugged. “Whatever you say, Boss.” He picked up a bottle of beer off the desk, nodding at Hanamiya. “One for the road.”

“I’d say get some sleep but I think that’s unnecessary,” Hanamiya said.

“Thought I’d do some reading tonight,” Seto said, hovering in the door. “Oh, and Boss--I don’t want Furuhashi and Hara tailing Sakurai anymore.”

Hanamiya nodded. “You’ll take care of it?”

“I’ll do what I can.” Seto let the door drop, and it clicked shut, leaving Hanamiya alone in the office.

Hanamiya turned, picking up the last few bottles. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for what he was thinking about doing.

#

It was easy for Seto to just say ‘after what happened’ like it was some kind of accident. Like they didn’t all know full damn well that Imayoshi had known what he was doing, what he was throwing away.

It had all seemed so easy back then. The three of them had known each other since middle school, when they were all just dumbass kids who didn’t have a clue. They antagonized each other, experimented with tricks and spells together--about blew up more than a few empty buildings they snuck into in the middle of the night.

Nobody could ever understand why a “nice boy like Teppei” was running around with Hanamiya and Imayoshi. Hanamiya still laughed thinking about it.

Around the time they turned seventeen was when Imayoshi picked up his mentor. Hanamiya hated the idea--everything he learned he figured out by trial and error. But Imayoshi wanted a teacher, and he got one.

Harasawa was his name, and Hanamiya had never once liked him. Kiyoshi said he was being too suspicious, and would tag along sometimes with Imayoshi, to talk to Harasawa. Hanamiya hated the sight of that old man, hated the way Kiyoshi and Imayoshi had listened to him.

But he’d put up with it. He’d ignored it.

He thought he could get along that way.

#

He’d been almost asleep one night, when Shouichi came home late. Teppei had still been up, reading, getting ready for his interview to take a position at Regulation. Makoto had been able to hear them talking.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

A sigh, a creak like someone sinking into a chair. “Where’s Makoto?”

“In bed already. What kept you so late?”

“Trying something new. It’s taking more work than I expected.” He sounded tired. “Harasawa’s working with me to figure it out.”

“Makoto’s not going to like that.”

“Does he need to know?”

#

They were always doing something new, always pushing the very limits of possibility. It was only ever Shouichi who didn’t share what he was working on until it was perfected, though. Hours upon hours he’d spend off somewhere, working with the city like he was learning to swim through it.

Makoto wanted to be angry about it. The only reason his patience lasted as long as it did was Teppei.

He was a sneaky fuck, Makoto didn’t care what anyone thought. Most people wouldn’t even know he could do any trick, they’d just wonder why it was always so pleasant to be around Teppei. Might not ever notice that no one ever got angry at Teppei (except for Aida, but she was a special case), that things always seemed to go Teppei’s way.

It always annoyed Makoto, how he could do that. He’d start to get pissed off, Teppei would notice, and Makoto would start to feel his heart rate going down, feel the anger ebbing away.

It never went away completely, of course--they had rules about that. But it kept Makoto reined in a lot longer than he might have been otherwise.

Things didn’t really start to change until Teppei got his job at Regulation, and had to work like the rest of them.

Seto was the first one to notice when Makoto started brooding, drinking more while they were working at the shop. Furuhashi was still pretty new, then, spending his nights sleeping in a tub full of sea water out back, stinking up the place with his cheap cigarettes.

“You okay, boss?”

“Fucker’s been out late last three nights in a row, won’t tell me what he’s up to.” He took a swig out of a bottle. “It’s getting to Teppei, too. I can tell.” He glanced at Seto. “Find out what he’s doing.”

Seto blinked. “You sure? I mean, Christ, Boss, you never asked me to--”

“I’m tired of his shit, I want to know what’s going on.”

Seto nodded, taking the drink from him and tipping it up, taking a long swallow. “I’ll see what I can find out. But you gotta promise me something, Makoto.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t like what you find out--” Seto grimaced. “Don’t ask our new fish friend to take care of it. This is between the three of you.”

Makoto nodded. “I’ll keep it between us.”

“And keep it out of the shop,” Seto added. “I don’t want us to start shitting where we eat.”

#

Yeah. Easy enough for Seto to say “after what happened.” He may have broken the news, but it was Hanamiya who’d dealt with all the shit.

Hanamiya who’d kicked shit apart until he got the truth, Hanamiya who’d been dealing with it.

He’d done everything Seto asked. Kept it between him and Kiyoshi and Imayoshi. Kept it out of the shop. Let it goddamn eat him up inside because he was keeping shit off the table.

Hanamiya emptied the bottle and threw it against the wall of the alley, running his fingers back through his hair.

Imayoshi wanted to say sorry? It was gonna take a whole hell of a lot more than a pretty little silver ring.

Hanamiya kicked some shit out of his way, glass crunching under his shoes. He sucked in a breath, listening to the sound of the mermaids coming off the bay, things shuffling around on the street outside.

“Not a goddamn thing goes on in this city that fucker doesn’t hear about,” Hanamiya muttered, pushing the glass around with his heel. “Fine. You wanna show off your newest toy? Let’s play.”


	6. Shore

Imayoshi lowered his umbrella at the door, shaking water from it. He looked up for a moment at the door, considering the possible outcomes of this visit. He had, in the past, relied on Momoi-san’s foresight--but this, he imagined, was something quite different.

The door opened as he raised his hand to knock. Momoi stepped back to allow him inside, smiling. “I thought you might come by today. I’ve made some coffee.”

“Thank you,” Imayoshi said, stepping over the threshold. There was always that slight prickle of discomfort, when you stepped over Momoi’s threshold. The very house seemed to be watching you, evaluating you. Imayoshi had never quite gotten used to it.

He took his seat in Momoi’s kitchen as she poured the coffee, that small smile on her face. “I suppose you came here because of our old acquaintances at Kirisaki Daiichi.” She stirred cream into the coffee, her back turned to him. “It was quite a show they put on in the old subway line.” She turned with the coffee in hand.

Imayoshi accepted his cup and thanked her. “Yes. That is one of the reasons I came.”

Momoi cocked her head to the side. “Somehow I suspect that you’re not here to make a social call.”

Imayoshi smiled. “Not this time, my dear Momoi-san.”

“Pity.” She sipped at her coffee. “What did you bring me, Imayoshi-san?”

Imayoshi reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the parcel he had kept close to his person the last three days. “It took me some time,” he said, sliding it across the table. “But I finally came across one.”

Momoi raised an eyebrow and began to unwrap the package. Imayoshi sipped his coffee--there was a heady taste like cinnamon, or cloves.

“Ah,” Momoi said, a smile breaking over her face. She ran a fingernail over the broad face of the watch, inspecting it. “Each of the planets, in their current place of orbit.” She turned it over, looking for the mark of a particular mage. “This must be close to two hundred years old. I can only imagine what it took to find it.” Her eyes slid over to him. “You must need quite the favor.”

“Not a favor,” Imayoshi assured her, “only your services.”

“Hmm.” Momoi slid the watch and parcel to the side, curling her fingers once more around her coffee cup. “Tell me why you’re here, Imayoshi-san.”

Imayoshi ran a finger around the rim of the cup. “I want to know what Kirisaki is planning, why they’re doing what they’re doing.”

“That question doesn’t warrant a gift like this.”

“That’s not the only question I have,” Imayoshi replied. He took another swallow of coffee, feeling the weight of Momoi’s expectant gaze. “Something’s not right with the city,” he said. “I can feel it. Every brick, every inch of steel or concrete--like the city is holding its breath.”

Momoi said nothing.

“Tell me what’s wrong with my city, Momoi-san.”

Momoi pulled back from the counter, leaving her coffee. “I’ll see what I can do.” She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “It was never _your_ city, Imayoshi-san.”

#

There were the occasions that Hanamiya grew restless, having hit a wall with a particular spell, and would leave the shop with Yamazaki and Seto while he paced around the city, looking for some clue to untangle whatever knot he’d come across.

The city was a different world in the light of day. Mermaid song did not seem to echo quite so loudly, and the creatures of the night crept back to their shadowed corners.

Hanamiya took note of the people he passed--an illusionist weaving colored lights into complex murals that evaporated in an instant, a sea witch selling bottles that contained miniature storms, a seedy-looking bookseller offering what he called “ancient magical tomes,” as if they couldn’t see that any books in that cart were likely to bite.

He had used to bring half a dozen things home from these little street markets, that popped up seemingly out of nowhere. One never knew where one might find something useful.

Today, however, Hanamiya had a specific goal in mind.

Just a few blocks from this particular market was a park, that looked much the same as it had when Hanamiya had gone there as a child--only now overgrown with morning glory and ivy.

A few weeds weren’t enough to keep away children.

It being the middle of the school day, the park was mostly empty. Hanamiya wandered over to the blacktop, where a basketball hoop hung without a net. It hadn’t rained that night, so he was able to see the sigils scratched in colored chalk on the asphalt.

The childrens’ sigils were nothing precise, they followed no real form. Most adult mages ignored them, perfecting established patterns.

They didn’t see the value in a kid’s scrawled lines.

Hanamiya crouched, following the lines with a fingertip. He had worked in chaos magic for years, and never once had he found a better source of inspiration than from kids just learning the basics of spellwork.

They had few preconceived notions, and an imagination that was always running at full bore. They drew connections an adult never would, innovated in remarkable ways.

Hanamiya needed a touch of that innovation.

His phone rang.

Hanamiya growled, yanking it out of his pocket. “Yeah?”

Seto’s voice had that just-woke-up grogginess. “I found out what Kiyoshi’s looking for at the archives.”

“I don’t remember telling you to do that.” Hanamiya stood, pacing around the smudged sigils.

“Yeah, well, I got curious. And it’s a damn good thing I did.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s the mermaids.” Seto yawned. “The reason the pod came back in so early--they brought something with them.”

“What?” Hanamiya asked.

“I dunno yet, but it’s something Aida said. They went to see that siren down on the waterfront--he said the mermaids were waiting for a wave.”

That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound very fucking good at all. “Is Furuhashi at the shop?” Hanamiya snapped.

“Don’t think so.”

“Get him there. I’m on my way.”

#

Imayoshi was on his second cup of coffee and his third cigarette when he heard the handle turn on Momoi’s front door. He’d run into other clients of hers before, but something about the clack of the shoes on the linoleum, and the tired sigh of the entrant, told him this wasn’t a client.

“I wondered if I might run into you here, Aida-san.” He looked over his shoulder, a cloud of smoke dissipating in the air.

Riko gave him a sharp look, throwing her jacket over a chair. “Been a while since I’ve had to see your face around here.”

She left her shoes by a chair, walking across and pulling the coffee pot out from under Imayoshi’s reach. Riko poured a generous cup for herself and leaned on the counter behind her, glowering at Imayoshi over the rim of her cup.

Imayoshi reached for the ashtray, letting the cigarette smolder there. “If you’re looking to hear an apology, I haven’t got one for you.”

“I don’t care,” she replied, “it’s not me who’s owed an apology.”

Imayoshi thought better of replying, sipping at his coffee. He had thought Momoi might have answers for him by now--but even if she did, it was just as likely she was holding out, letting him suffer. She found it amusing that she could throw him off balance, even only a little.

“But maybe I’m in a charitable mood,” Riko went on, grudgingly. “So we won’t talk about that.” She turned away from him, going to the fridge for something. “I saw your old mentor the other day. Ran into him at Regulation.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that,” Imayoshi said.

“Hmm?” Riko ignored him, setting her coffee on the counter and closing the fridge. “Anyway. Looks like you’ve been treating him well.”

Imayoshi hadn’t seen Harasawa Katsunori in almost four months, but he wasn’t about to justify himself to Aida Riko.

What had happened was none of her concern.

They’d been silent for hardly more than thirty seconds before Momoi came sweeping into the room.

So she had been waiting him out.

Momoi gave Riko a kiss on the cheek, and slid a file across the counter to Imayoshi. It was all very businesslike, the way it had always been. No grand voices, no stellar effects. She saw, she recorded data, she gave what she was paid for. When they’d first met, she’d told him very matter-of-factly: “I’m not a fortune teller. I collect data, I measure the possible outcomes. That’s all.”

She could call it what she liked, it got results, and that’s what Imayoshi needed, more than anything.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Momoi-san, Aida-san.” He smiled at his hosts. “I’m afraid I have something urgent to take care of. Have a nice day.”

Riko smiled thinly. Momoi was paying more attention to Riko than to him.

“How was your day?”

“Long.”

Imayoshi let the door drop behind him.

#

Kiyoshi couldn’t have hoped to keep it quiet for long. People in the office started gossiping whenever anyone spent too much time in the archives, doing “unspecified” research. Regulation functioned on gaining information--it wasn’t much of a place for secrets in the best of times.

This wasn’t the best of times.

“The funeral’s on Saturday,” Riko told him, setting coffee down on his desk. “And everybody knows we’ve been looking into the mermaids.”

Kiyoshi rubbed his face, closing the file he’d been going over. “Everybody, huh?”

“Couldn’t hardly get through the door,” Riko complained. “My coffee’s lukewarm now.” She looked over her cup at Kiyoshi, grimly. “Imayoshi was at Satsuki’s house yesterday.”

Kiyoshi sipped at his coffee, glancing at Riko with a raised eyebrow. She waved her hand in the air. “You know how she is. Client confidentiality. She did tell me she found something out, though. About the pod.”

“Oh?”

“Well it’s--it’s really more about the city.” Riko sipped at her coffee and grimaced. “We’re meeting with the head of Regulation today to talk about it.”

Kiyoshi sat back in his chair. _“Araki?”_

“This goes way above us, Teppei.” Riko pushed her coffee away on her desk. “The city is sinking.”

#

“How fucking long have you known about this?” Hanamiya asked.

“It’s not a secret society, you know. I’m not in on everything.” Furuhashi was burning his way through his fourth cigarette, the only sign he gave that he was anxious. “What difference would it make if I told you, anyway? What’d you do? Pack up your bags and get out of town?”

“I ought to kill you,” Hanamiya snapped. They were standing out in the back alley, the door locked so the others would leave them alone. Especially Hara--Hanamiya hadn’t failed to notice how wherever Furuhashi was, Hara would inevitably show up. High, sober, didn’t matter. It was like Hara was glued to Furuhashi.

“It wasn’t the pod’s idea to build a city right on the bay,” Furuhashi said. “The ground isn’t stable, it never was.”

“Yeah, but it was your fucking pod that came back early with a sea witch to speed the process along. What little oceanic hellhole did they scrape her out of?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” Furuhashi ground his cigarette against the pavement. “Your friends at Regulation have probably figured it out by now.”

“This isn’t about them,” Hanamiya said. “It’s about you not telling me that half the city’s about to slide to the bottom of the goddamn bay, and your pod’s gonna swarm it in a feeding frenzy. Not fucking important enough to mention that, was it?”

Furuhashi stared up at the sky for a moment. “It’s getting harder to stay above water for long periods of time.” He rattled his half-empty water bottle. “Harder to get out of the water in the first place.”

Hanamiya kicked something against the wall.

“It happens, you know. As we get older. Our lungs wear out faster. If you’re great-great-great grandfather had a mermaid for a mother it’s no big deal, but if you’re first one out of the water…” Furuhashi shrugged. “If I’m not careful, I could die up here.”

“So you thought you’d take us all with you?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Furuhashi looked tired, and that scared Hanamiya more than anything. “What’s the point of telling you if you’re not going to leave, anyway?”

Hanamiya turned away. He was right, damn that fish’s son to the watery hell he came from. They wouldn’t leave, none of them would.

He rubbed his face, thinking. Imayoshi would have noticed something was wrong with the city--he was practically part of it, by now.

“Did you tell Hara?” Hanamiya asked at last.

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re dying whenever you come up here.”

“...Why would I need to tell him that?”

“Forget it,” Hanamiya said, turning around. “It’d probably kill him, anyway.” He picked up his coat, shaking it out and shrugging it on. “I have to do something. Stay at the shop, today. And keep Hara with you, that shouldn’t be hard.” Hanamiya glanced at Furuhashi. “Fill up the tub full of saltwater, if you have to. I don’t need you dying on me.”

Furuhashi nodded. “We’re supposed to get a shipment today.”

“Then make them come to you.” Hanamiya unlocked the door to go through the shop. “Nobody leaves this shop today without my say-so.”


	7. Shipwreck

Sakurai was getting fidgety again, Imayoshi wasn’t so drawn into his own concerns not to notice. “What is it?”

“Do you think I showed my hand too soon?” Sakurai pressed his palms together. “Killing that Regulation officer.”

“No,” Imayoshi said, “you did well. Everything that they’ve done since--just posturing.” He filled his glass with more wine than was strictly appropriate, a bad habit he’d picked up from his last affair. It made the grating shifts of the city easier to bear.

That was the part he didn’t like to talk about. Working with the city--walking through it--you were never quite on your own again. You could feel the ache in the concrete and steel, the buzz of city sounds always in the back of your mind. This was the price he paid to make the city his doorway.

That, and other things.

“W-what about Regulation?”

“What about them?” Imayoshi said. “You’re one of a kind, Sakurai. They’ve never encountered anything quite like you.”

Sakurai looked unconvinced. “I killed one of their own. They’ll come looking, won’t they?”

“Eventually.” Imayoshi leaned back in his chair. This office was the one place in the city that belonged solely to him. It was polished, spartan. Everything he needed it to be. Anything more would have drawn too much attention. “But they have more pressing concerns at the moment, and by the time they can turn their eyes to you, your job will be done, and you’ll be long gone.”

A shame, he rather liked Sakurai--but it would be a liability to keep him around.

Sakurai looked toward the window. “When do you want me to begin the next part?”

Imayoshi ran a finger around the lip of the wine glass. “We have new matters to consider. Lay low for a few days, and I’ll call you when it’s time.” He took a long swallow. “And don’t go near the water.”

#

The pipes sputtered as if clear their throats. Yamazaki had had the saltwater pipes installed himself, when he was first brought on board. It was easier than storing the fifty-gallon barrels they’d kept around before, even if they made dreadful noises whenever Furuhashi filled the tank.

His threads wound their way through the shop, lacing their way through shelves and walls, so that he felt every creak in the place. It had used to give him a sense of security.

After Imayoshi had brought that twitchy kid in, though, Yamazaki had been uneasy. If anyone at Kirisaki had any idea how it was that Yamazaki always knew first what things needed repairing, and how, or how he knew immediately when someone had slipped something into their pockets, they had never brought it up. That he was good at his job was enough for everyone else.

He’d never seen anyone notice the threads. And, after what Hara and Furuhashi had seen, he liked it less and less. He thought he’d gotten used to seeing trick he didn’t understand--that was basically all Hanamiya and any other chaos magician did, after all, and all Hara seemed to do was blow fuses and charge every phone within six feet of him--but this was something different.

What Yamazaki and Imayoshi did were not so different, really. Yamazaki made himself a part of the shop, Imayoshi made the city a part of him. So if Yamazaki had noticed something off about Sakurai, Imayoshi must have known it too.

Yamazaki had “forgotten” enough things he’d seen at Kirisaki, the only reason that he could give himself as to why this particular thing kept eating at the back of his mind was that, in a way he didn’t entirely understand, this was personal.

The pipes fell silent--Furuhashi’s tank would be full, then. It occurred to Yamazaki that Furuhashi hadn’t used the tank in weeks--usually he’d just go down to the harbor. Especially when the pod was back, it didn’t make much sense for him to be here.

“Hey, Seto.”

Seto grunted on his cot. Yamazaki kicked the frame. “Seto. Watch the shop for me.”

“Why?”

“Gonna check on something.”

Grumbling, Seto sat up and rubbed his face. He climbed onto the stool behind the counter and slumped over it, his head on his arms.

The stairs creaked under Yamazaki’s shoes. The handrail was coming loose, he’d have to see to that.

The upper floor wasn’t really much of anything. A couple of dusty beds for when they needed somewhere to crash, boxes full of shit that Hanamiya collected for this or that, and Furuhashi’s tank.

Hara was sprawled out on one of the beds, the moth-eaten blanket crackling with static at every shift of his weight. He was napping, that was good. Hara got little enough sleep these days.

Furuhashi was submerged in saltwater, eyes closed, breathing steadily. He opened his eyes when he heard Yamazaki. Yamazaki liked to think he had gotten used to Furuhashi’s unblinking stare, but now--there was something newly unsettling in it.

Yamazaki wasn’t sure what he’d hoped to achieve by coming up to check on them. He shut the door, and stared back down the steps.

He’d come into this line of work because there wasn’t much else for him. Through a handful of fuckups he wished he could undo, working at a place like this was the only avenue left open to him.

He’d told himself it was just a job. Just work, right?

Except for the fact that he cared too much. Just like every other time he fucked up. You care too much, it’s a lot harder to get out when you should.

So you’re forced to make up your mind whether you’ll get out at all.

#

Imayoshi supposed he wasn’t surprised that he had to go down to the waterfront to find Harasawa. It had been the place he first found Harasawa, dragged him out of the hole where he was ready to rot.

They charitably called him a chemist--or at least they had then. The sort of person you went to for under-the-table mixtures for purposes you wouldn’t disclose to a proper magician, let alone Regulation. What Imayoshi had sought him out for was something else, a less-known trick then. They called it metromancy now: still rare, still largely unexplored, except for the work Imayoshi and Harasawa had done to expand it.

What he’d been up to in the last few months, Imayoshi could only guess. They’d seen less and less of each other--Imayoshi had long since surpassed Harasawa’s skills.

It had taken some doing, to track him down. Not that Harasawa was particularly good at evading notice, only that he wasn’t even pretending to have his life put together these days.

Like the rest of the waterfront, Harasawa Katsunori was in decay.

“This is new, for you,” Imayoshi said, peering at the oddly colored drink in Harasawa’s glass. “You never used to mix chemistry and drinking.”

Harasawa was drunk (when wasn’t he?) but not drunk enough that it took him more than a moment to recognize Imayoshi.  “You again.”

Yes, him again. Imayoshi felt this meeting was rather too reminiscent of the first time he’d sought Harasawa out.

He pulled out a chair and sat across from Harasawa, lighting a cigarette. There was a time he’d have stolen Harasawa’s drink--but he didn’t trust whatever poison his old teacher had in that glass. “You’ve really gone to hell, haven’t you?”

“What do you want?” Harasawa looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He was gutted, no real life in his eyes anymore.

“Did you know?” Imayoshi asked. “Is that why you disappeared back into this hole?”

Harasawa snorted, picking up his drink again. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“The city, Harasawa. You can feel it most right here on the waterfront, I know you can.”

“Oh, that?” Harasawa was speaking to the bottom of the glass. “I thought you’d have noticed before me. I suppose you were busy, though.”

Imayoshi’s cigarette was burning down between his fingers. “Is there a way to stop it?”

Something in Harasawa’s posture shifted. He regarded Imayoshi with a familiar wariness. “What’re you asking me for?”

#

Kiyoshi only managed to escape an all-nighter at Regulation because Riko dragged him out the door. He was exhausted, his head was spinning. The city, sinking.

“Get some sleep, Teppei.”

“I’ll try.” The walk home was a haze. Kiyoshi kept going over the meeting in Araki’s office, the information they had, the questions they were still asking.

He wished he still had Shouichi and Makoto. They had used to go over things like this--one of them usually had an answer. They’d always managed to find what they needed to know, one way or another. Now he doubted he’d be able to get them both in a room and actually gain anything from the experience.

He wasn’t shaken out of the fog until he reached his front door. There was a light on inside.

Teppei stared at the light under the door. He never left the lights on when he left, he was very good about that.

He could hear someone inside.

Kiyoshi laid his palm against the door, and closed his eyes.

He knew that energy, the crackling frenetic cloud that filled every part of the space it occupied.

He pushed open the door, not sure what to expect. Makoto sat in one of Kiyoshi’s living room chairs, the way he’d used to when he was waiting up for Shouichi. He’d ordered dinner, Kiyoshi could see. Made himself at home.

Fallen asleep.

Kiyoshi shook him awake, carefully. Makoto had punched more than one person who tried to wake him. “Hey--what are you doing here?”

Makoto rubbed his face. “So you know, huh?”

“Yeah, I know. Is that why you’re here?”

“Sort of.” Hanamiya looked tired. “We need Imayoshi.”


	8. Slick

Riko usually liked how quiet the house she shared with Satsuki was. It felt like an island in the city, the one place where the smell of the bay and the street didn’t follow her. It was Riko who always called for flowers to decorate the house, who had the wisteria that clung to the front of the house tended to. This was a haven.

Today, though, Riko could sense that the quiet had changed.

She left her bag on the counter and went up the stairs, her toes curling into the soft carpet. There was a faint scent of incense slipping through the air, the particular mix Satsuki made herself. It was intoxicating, a scent that Riko associated exclusively with Satsuki.

Satsuki sat in the center of the room she called her office. The walls were covered from ceiling to floor with the kind of dry erase boards you saw in classrooms. When Satsuki was in the middle of an analysis, she could fill a whole wall with her writing, her eyes glassy and her hand moving without her, as it was now.

Riko stood in the doorway, keeping quiet. It would take an earthquake to shake Satsuki from one of her analyses, but if Riko concentrated, she could feel the barest of impressions of what Satsuki saw.

The smell of tobacco smoke, something alcoholic. A shudder. The taste of salt. They faded in and out of Riko’s perception, and Satsuki wrote, her hand gradually slowing, the tense air of the analysis fading from the room, making it easier to breathe.

“You’re home.”

Riko nodded. “Are you alright?”

Satsuki looked over what she had written. “Maybe.”

“Do you want coffee?” Sometimes Satsuki would not sleep for a day or more, putting the analysis into something that was comprehensible, working out its meaning.

“No. It can wait.” She hardly ever said that.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Satsuki turned to her. “How are you?” She was further from the seeing, now, calmer. Riko had learned how to read the tension in Satsuki’s shoulders, in her eyes.

Riko took Satsuki’s hand. Her fingers hadn’t relaxed yet, betraying her. Riko let out a breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She didn’t mean how she felt.

Satsuki nodded. “You know there’s nothing you can do about it by yourself.”

“I hate it.” Riko’s face twisted in a scowl. “I hate not having--some goal. An idea of what I’m supposed to do.” She looked at Satsuki. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You help me with this,” Satsuki said, nodding at the scrawling on the wall. “You’re the only person I’ve ever trusted to help me make sense of it. And we’ll be faster together.”

Riko nodded. “I’ll get the coffee started, then.” Before she joined Regulation, she had used to do this all the time. She was the one who got impressions of people when they walked through the front door. She wasn’t like Satsuki--she couldn’t take what she saw very far into the future, but she could see where someone was at, where they had been--and that gave Satsuki more data.

Data she could use to make her analyses clearer.

They’d always been better together.

#

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Furuhashi stopped with his hand on the door, not turning to look. Yamazaki didn’t usually stay very late at the shop, and he’d been counting on no one hearing him. “Out.”

The empty shop seemed to have shifted its whole focus on him. Furuhashi thought he should have gone out the window, over the rooftops to the nearest fire escape. He could have been halfway down the street before anyone noticed he was gone.

“Where?” Yamazaki had a particular look in his eyes--that not-quite-real sharpness that Horizon gave you, keeping you up for days. Yamazaki never used the stuff, not as long as the shop had been supplementing their profits with it, but Furuhashi knew the look, better than he wanted to, and he knew what it would take to push Yamazaki to try it.

“To the bay.”

Yamazaki stared at him, trying to come up with an explanation he could believe. “Why?”

“Because. I can stop this.”

He shook his head. “No you can’t, you fucking idiot.”

Furuhashi heard the bolt click in the lock. Yamazaki did that, sometimes, but usually he was locking people out. “I have to do something.”

“Like what? You think the pod is gonna let you near whatever they dredged up out of the depths? You think you can just go out and save the day all by your damn self?” Yamazaki wasn’t letting up. “Besides, Hanamiya would raze the city to the ground himself if it would stop you from going out alone.”

Furuhashi hadn’t taken his hand off the doorknob. “Let me out, Yamazaki.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to sit here and do nothing.” There was an edge to Furuhashi’s voice.

Yamazaki let out a breath. “Wake Hara up. God only knows what he’d do if he woke up and found you gone.” He gave Furuhashi a glance. “And I’m coming with you.”

#

Makoto stood by the window while Kiyoshi made the call. It had been a long time since he called Shouichi directly, longer since he’d done it at Makoto’s request.

He wasn’t sure he was even really expecting Shouichi to answer.

He picked up on the second ring. “Teppei? What is it?”

For a moment, the hint of worry in Shouichi’s voice sent him back before the whole mess started. When things were normal. Kiyoshi’s chest felt tight. “You need to come to my place, now. Makoto’s here. We need to talk.”

The silence from Shouichi’s end was heavy. “Makoto is there?”

“He told me to call you.” Kiyoshi glanced over, but Makoto was just staring out the window, watching the city, the lights in the street. “You need to come here, Shouichi. I--” Kiyoshi stopped. “We need you.”

#

Hara drew in a deep breath, the cold air stinging his face. This was the longest he’d been sober in--he didn’t know how long. He was shaking a little, probably withdrawal. “What’re we gonna do?”

“Make sure Fish-Eyes here doesn’t get himself killed,” Yamazaki said. “At least that’s what I plan to do.”

Furuhashi wasn’t saying anything. He was making a line for the bay, walking fast enough that Hara had to jog to keep up. “Furuhashi?” His head hurt, a sharp, splitting ache. Hara did his best to ignore it.

“We have to draw it out.”

“Draw what out?”

Furuhashi’s face didn’t look any different than it normally did, but Hara could sense the stone in his voice. “Hanamiya called it a sea witch, but that’s not what it is. I saw it. It’s waiting, just beyond the bay. I didn’t realize they brought it, then.”

“Furuhashi!” Yamazaki grabbed him by the shoulder, making him stop. “What the hell is it?”

Furuhashi stared down the street, in the direction of the bay, where the mermaids were singing. “It’s called a slick.”

#

Pain gripped Imayoshi’s spine as he slid between steel and concrete, the city aching in his bones. He stumbled out of a wall, trying to catch his breath, the grating pressure of the city blinding him for a moment. It would be too easy to let his trick slip from his grasp, and lose a limb--or worse--in the steel beams of a building.

Imayoshi got his bearings, and raised his arm for a taxi. It would take too long to walk to Teppei’s apartment, and he wasn’t sure he could make it on foot. The ground felt as if it would swallow him up.

He leaned his head back in the taxi, thinking on his conversation with Harasawa.

“You can’t just kill them, you know,” Harasawa said. “They were never really alive to begin with.”

Imayoshi toyed with an unlit cigarette, deciding whether or not he even wanted it. “How would the mermaids even get it to follow them in the first place?”

“Without it devouring them? Damned if I know, maybe it likes the way they sing.” Harasawa had taken a long drink. “But when it comes, there won’t be any stopping it.”

“There has to be some way.”

“There are theories, but nothing proven. Sometimes they just--disappear.” Harasawa rubbed his neck, grimacing. He almost looked like his old self, like you could imagine he’d once been respectable. “Slicks are what happens when the industrial mixes with the alchemical. Oil, garbage, dead fish--all manner of garbage, or waste. All it takes is just enough trick to hold it all together, give it something like life. Usually trick just makes it stronger.”

Something like life.

Something you couldn’t kill.

The solid foundation of Teppei’s apartment complex felt like a welcome relief, and Imayoshi was able to make it through the walls without feeling as if he were about to be crushed.

He wouldn’t admit how it had jarred him to hear that they needed him again, the way something had seemed to release in his chest, in his shoulders.

Imayoshi rapped the door three times and waited, remembering there was a time when he never would have dreamed of knocking on Teppei’s door, of waiting outside like a visitor.

Teppei looked exhausted, and he gave Imayoshi a smile that felt forced. “Come in.”

Teppei’s apartment had a warm, clean smell. Makoto was sitting slumped in a chair, refusing to look at him. Imayoshi supposed he should have expected that.

“I’m glad you came,” Teppei said.

“Of course.” Imayoshi sat, though his skin prickled to leap to action. He never did anything without a plan. “Is this about the slick?” he asked.

Makoto looked up, his face going almost grey. “The what?”

#

Furuhashi leapt aboard the first boat he saw, ignoring the hiss from one of the mermaids as she slid away from the rocking boat.

“Just what the hell are we supposed to do?” Yamazaki demanded.

“Draw it out, draw it away.” Furuhashi’s lungs burned, protesting the time out of water. His breath came in ragged gasps that he couldn’t even try to hide. Hara jumped on board while Furuhashi untied the boat. He went straight for the controls, sparks flying from his fingertips. The engine roared to life, the water churning.

“And do what?” Yamazaki climbed on board after them. “Hmm? What’s Part Two of this plan?”

Furuhashi pulled in the ropes. “I don’t know.”

“We can shoot it,” Hara suggested.

“Shoot what? It’s a toxic mess that got a mind of its own, it hasn’t got anything to shoot. And we haven’t got anything to shoot it with!” Yamazaki followed Furuhashi to the controls. “Or are we just going on a suicide mission and hoping for the best?”

Hara looked at Furuhashi.

Furuhashi put his hands on the wheel. “You can leave now, if you want to.”

Yamazaki looked skyward in exasperation. “Fuck you. Steer the damn boat.”

#

They were trying to work out what to do. It was an uneasy conversation, but it reminded Hanamiya of the old times, when they’d talked for hours to work out a single problem. They’d been best, then. People had known who they were, what they could do.

Someone hammered on the door, making him jump.

Teppei answered the door, and Seto leaned on the frame, looking like he’d come running.

Hanamiya stood, feeling sick fear. Seto never came in person when something happened. He always called. “What is it?”

“They’re gone,” Seto panted. “Yamazaki, Furuhashi, Hara--I woke up and all three of them were gone.”

#

Momoi stepped back from the wall, all the pieces settling into place. Like a river of oil she could see it, shimmering and stretching for over a mile, the chemical stench of it burning her nostrils, making her stomach turn.

Riko looked at her, as if sensing that it had come together. “Satsuki?”

Momoi looked at her, a cold feeling whispering over her skin. “It’s coming.”

 

 


	9. Oil

The swirl of emotions that was emanating off of his companions threatened to overwhelm Kiyoshi. So much fear, so intense, it was hard not to be affected by it.

Without even a word, Makoto had been out the door with Seto on his heels, and Kiyoshi had had hardly a moment to process it before Shouichi was after them too. It had seemed to Kiyoshi that the only thing he could do was follow.

The air around them felt like reckless fear, and it made Kiyoshi uneasy. Makoto and Shouchi both were powerful magicians, dangerous at even the best of time. It was a massive effort to try and soften that fear, even a bit. To slow the adrenaline and the heightened pulses of three people who were only exacerbating each other’s reactions--he could barely manage it.

They were almost on the docks before Shouichi seemed to come around to himself. He grabbed Makoto’s arm, calling his name. “What do you mean to do?”

Makoto didn’t even seem to notice the grip on his arm. “I’m going to drag them back before they get themselves _killed!”_

“If you go charging out there now, you’ll get _yourself_ killed.” Shouichi looked at Seto. “How do you even know that’s where they went?”

Makoto answered. “Where else would they go? All three of them, without telling anyone.” He pulled out of Shouichi’s grasp. “I’ll kill them myself for doing this.”

“Makoto,” Kiyoshi said, “we can’t just go out there without a plan.”

“We don’t have time for a plan!” Makoto snapped. “What they’re doing is suic--” He stopped suddenly, looking toward the water.

“What is it?” Shouichi asked. The streetlights cast harsh shadows against his face. He looked pale, drawn.

“The mermaids,” Makoto said. A chemical scent carried on the wind, hardly noticeable unless you knew what it meant.

Kiyoshi let out a breath. “They’ve stopped singing.”

#

Saltwater. It sprayed up around the boat like a mist, tickling the edges of Furuhashi’s gills, daring them to unseal in the open air, to let him suffocate.

Yamazaki had taken the wheel, threads of trick already winding through the boat, taking stock of it. Hara was sitting on the back, watching the water. He looked up at Furuhashi. “I think I have an idea.”

Furuhashi only looked at him.

“It’s crazy,” Hara said, “but it might work.” He was toying with a lighter. “Hey, Furuhashi.” He started to say something, but a deep, bone-aching boom shook through the water. The boat sputtered to a halt.

“The hell was that?” Yamazaki called back.

A groan, like creaking steel, like something huge. Furuhashi clambered over the boat, turning the spotlight over the water, scanning the black waves for a look at the thing.

The mermaids in the bay had gone silent. The wind seemed empty without their voices.

He smelled it before he saw it. Crude oil and something industrial, chemical. It singed the air, the stench making his stomach heave.

The engine roared to life again, the boat edging cautiously forward. Furuhashi caught a motion in the corner of his eye and swiveled the spotlight about.

It slid through the water like an eel, shimmering with a sick, oily sheen.

Perhaps drawn by the light it rose up, head and neck--if it could be said to have either--looming over them. Oil dripped from its face, empty hollows where eyes should have been staring down at them. The slick opened its maw, jagged steel teeth glistening as a low hiss came from the beast’s throat. It’s every movement gave a crunching sound, as of metal being crushed.

Furuhashi couldn’t move. He’d seen it before, but only from a distance. This was different. Smelling it, having the air burn your eyes and nose, feeling it’s mindless hunger.

He was dimly aware of Hara shouting something, and then the boat jolted forward, nearly sending him tumbling into the water. Furuhashi’s fingers clamped onto the spotlight, clinging to it as the boat swerved around the slick. The slick hissed again and dove after them, the wave swelling under the boat and lifting it dangerously to one side.

“Furuhashi!” Hara was yelling at him. “Keep the light pointed at that thing!”

Numb, Furuhashi swiveled the spotlight around, shining it down at the water where the slick cleaved between the waves, with no purpose except to devour them.

Yamazaki had the boat pointed directly away from the shore, leading the slick out, away from the city and back into open ocean. The water sprayed up across Furuhashi’s back, cold as ice in the open air. His gills ached to open.

A shudder seemed to run through the slick’s shape, and then a boom shook through the water, and the engine sputtered again. It must have been some kind of trick, like stunning its prey, killing whatever machine was in its path.

Furuhashi heard Hara swear and a sound like a crack answered the boom, starting the engine again as blue lines of electricity danced over the boat’s exterior, slamming the boat forward again. “Take it out farther!” Hara shouted.

The city was growing smaller behind them. Furuhashi looked away from the slick just long enough to see the lights of the waterfront, glowing on the bay, oblivious to what was happening.

The slick broke through the waves like something shot from a cannon, chasing them down. Whatever Yamazaki was doing to keep them moving, Furuhashi could feel the boat tossed side to side as the water swelled beneath it, the wind rising. They couldn’t outrun it much longer without capsizing.

“Yamazaki!” Hara shouted. “Now!”

The boat jerked to the right, spinning about as the slick barrelled past. Furuhashi clung to the spotlight, and turned to see what Hara meant to do.

Hara planted a foot on the back, and jumped.

Furuhashi didn’t yell, couldn’t. He stumbled down away from the spotlight, as if he thought he could catch Hara, pull him back. _No, don’t, you’ll die._

Hara had something in his hand, held out in front of him, something Furuhashi couldn’t see--and then something knocked Furuhashi back against the boat, with a blinding flash. The back of his head struck something hard, and he skidded across the deck as the boat was thrown back by the sheer force of an explosion.

The sound that came from the slick was anything but animal. Like steel breaking the slick snapped up out of the water, swallowed in fire. It writhed, screaming like metal scraping against metal.

The lighter.

That’s what Hara had meant, his crazy idea that might work.

Furuhashi dragged himself up to his feet, prying one shoe off, and then the other. Yamazaki already had the boat moving away, trying to get it out of range of the burning slick. Furuhashi pulled off his shirt, his jeans--and by the time Yamazaki noticed, he was already in the water.

#

They heard the booms, saw the spot of light moving rapidly away as something broke through the waves after it. Hanamiya watched as if paralyzed, knowing without needing to be sure who was on that boat.

The sounds drew the people near the waterfront out, watching, not quite understanding what they were seeing. A siren with feathers like gold landed on one of the rooftops, humming a tune, apparently not worried about the slick, or the silent mermaids. Like he'd been expecting it.

The fire lit up the water, a ribbon of burning. The screams of the slick were clear even where Hanamiya stood, the rest of the world forgotten, his eyes stuck on the boat that had stopped moving.

#

His gills ripped open the moment he hit water, burning with the foul chemicals coming off of the slick as it broke apart. Furuhashi dodged the sharp-edged metals that were thrown off the slick, seeing by the glow of the fire.

His eyes stung, his skin blistered, and he was not going back until he found Hara.

He swam against the tide, the roar of the water shutting out everything else. _Find him, find him, find him._

#

Yamazaki had abandoned the controls, standing at the back of the boat and screaming until his throat was raw. “Furuhashi! Hara!”

He wouldn’t go back alone. He wouldn’t go back without them. He couldn’t survive this if they--“Furuhashi!”--he had been the one who had let Furuhashi go, who had told him to bring Hara. “Hara!” This was his fault, all his fault. "Furuhashi!"

A hand latched onto the back of the boat. Furuhashi dragged himself up, Hara slung over his back.

Yamazaki yanked Hara up, dropping him on the deck and reaching for Furuhashi. Both of them were burned, bleeding. Furuhashi had blood and oil in his gills.

“I’m going to take us back,” he said, “you need to go to the hospital.” It was the only thing he could think to do.

Furuhashi didn’t protest. He barely had the strength to get on his hands and knees.

Yamazaki ran back to the controls, kicking the boat back to life, and turning it back to shore.

#

Furuhashi crawled across the deck to Hara. He did his best to wipe the oily slime of the slick from Hara’s face, trying to see if he was even still breathing.

Hara coughed, spitting up fouled water, and Furuhashi was so relieved he nearly collapsed. He eased himself down on the deck, his hand on the collar of Hara’s shirt, like he was afraid Hara’s pulse would slip away.

Hara tried to catch his breath, and turned his head to look at Furuhashi. “Furu…?”

Furuhashi stared at him. All he could get out was, “I’m gonna kill you.”

Hara smiled, just a bit. “Did it work?”

Furuhashi nodded. “I think so.”

“Good.” Hara closed his eyes. “Good.”

The clouds were on fire, and thick black smoke came up from the water’s surface. Furuhashi couldn’t hear the screaming anymore.

He closed his eyes, and touched his forehead to Hara’s shoulder.

Had it always hurt so much to breathe?

 

 


	10. Rain

It was a long time before they took the bandages off. Hara touched the new scars gingerly. Sometimes he still felt a phantom of the burn. They said he shouldn’t be alive. The blast alone should have killed him--and failing that, the withdrawal should have finished him off. Instead, it just made him wish it had.

He felt like the lights never went off in the hospital. Kirisaki seemed so dark, in comparison. He felt like he couldn’t sleep there, and when he did sleep, he had nightmares. The lights buzzed, all the time, a synthetic hive of wasps. He couldn’t be hooked up to most of the monitoring equipment, because he made it short out. Once a door had slammed, and it startled him so badly he blew fuses halfway down the hall in either direction.

People were always coming to see him. Doctors, nurses, always prodding at him, asking him questions. Hanamiya was there a lot, Yamazaki too. Seto came sometimes.

Furuhashi never did.

#

“We should think about hiring some more help around here,” Yamazaki said, examining a watch that had recently come into their possession. The shop felt eerily quiet these days.

“Why?” Hanamiya was staring out the window, watching cars roll by in the rain.

“Just to keep things going around here, while Hara’s gone.” Yamazaki was reaching, he knew. “Seto said he met someone who seemed likely.”

“Matsumoto-something. I remember.” Hanamiya pressed his forehead against the glass. “I’ll think about it.”

The silence mad Yamazaki’s skin crawl. “I--I couldn’t let him go alone, boss.”

Hanamiya’s fingers tapped the glass. “I know.” He didn’t seem to be listening.

Kiyoshi hadn’t been by since the slick. Yamazaki supposed he was a bit busy with the aftermath--the slick had disintegrated before it totally burned away. Regulation was busy fishing pieces of it out of the bay, and planning to strengthen infrastructure along the waterfront. Far as Yamazaki could tell, the regular patrols had been almost cut in half.

“Where’s Seto, boss?”

“Checking up on Hara. And… other business.” Even then, Hanamiya was keeping an eye on things. They couldn’t afford to stop paying attention.

The rain drummed against the roof, cocooning the shop in the heavy quiet. Yamazaki put the watch in a display case, keeping everything carefully in order. He had rearranged everything in the shop twice since he took Hara and Furuhashi to the hospital. It was the only thing he could do to keep from running in circles.

The bell on the door jangled. Hanamiya’s voice was tired. “What do you want?”

Yamazaki straightened up, knowing without looking who it was. He slipped around to the back as if he had something to do there--as if he wouldn’t still be able to hear every part of their conversation.

Imayoshi was slow in answering. “I wanted to let you know that I’m grateful, for what your… for what those three did, in stopping the slick.”

Hanamiya didn’t reply.

“To think that--it would be something so simple.”

“Go away.” Hanamiya sounded so tired. “Don’t you have something you should be doing?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” He couldn’t resist needling Hanamiya, could he?

Yamazaki leaned back against the wall, wondering what Imayoshi wanted.

“You remember Sakurai.”

“Of course. I thought a fight was going to break out in my shop. I suppose he’s taking care of something for you?”

“You could say that.” A chair creaked. “He’s not important.”

“My boys watched him murder someone.”

“An unfortunate incident, and not one that can be proven.”

“Do you ever stop being so exhausting?”

Creak, sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come to talk about Sakurai.”

“Why did you come?”

A drawn breath. “To apologize for what I did. For breaking the rules.”

The words meant nothing to Yamazaki, but they made the silence that followed all the worse.

Hanamiya’s voice was venomous when he finally spoke. “Which ones, exactly? When you fucked him, or when you lied to me about it?”

#

Hanamiya didn’t want to be having this conversation. He didn’t want to be re-living the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d had when Seto told him, the way it had grown acidic while he waited for Imayoshi to come home. He’d thrown up in the kitchen sink twice, and when Teppei asked him what was wrong, he only shook his head, and pushed off his worrying hands.

The last thing he wanted was to be touched.

He could see it in Shouichi’s eyes that he knew he was caught. He came home like an animal sniffing the wind for the scent of a hunter, as if he could talk his way out of this, like he talked his way out of everything.

They had rules. They were the only rules that really mattered to Hanamiya, what made “them” work.

Shouichi even had the balls to say that it didn’t mean anything.

Makoto left that night. Just got all his things and left. Teppei didn’t try to stop him. Shouichi, though, he argued--right up until the moment Makoto almost slammed the car door on his hand.

He didn’t know much of what had happened after that. He stayed in the rooms above the shop for a while, until he found a new apartment. At first, Shouichi called every day, and Makoto deleted his messages without listening to them. The calls came less and less often, until finally Shouichi stopped trying.

He gathered that Kiyoshi and Imayoshi had still lived together until the lease expired, and Kiyoshi moved closer to Regulation, and Imayoshi went who knew where. Hanamiya didn’t care.

He had other things to worry about.

That’s what he said, anyway, whenever that needling feeling began in his gut, and he started thinking about seeing what Imayoshi was up to.

“Why do you want to talk about it?” The window glass felt almost sharp against his forehead. Rivulets of water slid away while he watched, joining together like forks of a river, dripping onto the sidewalk with a plit, plat.

Imayoshi rubbed his thumb over the joints of his other hand, wincing as he grazed a raw spot. His hands looked like he’d recently punched something, more times than were strictly necessary. “Tying up loose ends.”

Was that it, then? The end wasn’t one he liked, so he wouldn’t let go until it was?

“Why did you do it?” That was the only question Hanamiya had ever had about it, the why. He didn’t understand, why Imayoshi had done it, why he had felt the need to lie about it. It was cliche, it was ludicrous.

It was nothing Hanamiya had ever known Imayoshi Shouichi to be.

Imayoshi seemed to be watching dust drift through the dim light of the shop. “To see if I could.”

Hanamiya turned a level gaze on Imayoshi. To see if he could. Of course. Of course that was the reason why. The reason Imayoshi did everything.

“I didn’t think…” He stopped himself from whatever he was about to say, and sighed. “I didn’t think far ahead.”

Hanamiya looked back out the window, resting his chin on his arms. His breath fogged the glass. The heat had never worked in the shop.

The silence settled over them like a blanket. It would have been comfortable, once.

“How are they?” Imayoshi looked at his hands. “The two that went to the hospital?”

“Hara’ll be fine, eventually,” Hanamiya said. “He got burned pretty bad.”

“And… Furuhashi?”

“He was in bad shape,” Hanamiya said. “Wasn’t breathing when they got him to the hospital.” He’d felt so useless, watching them disappear into the back of an ambulance. “I doubt he’ll ever spend much time above water again.”

Furuhashi was the first one they stabilized. They let Hanamiya see him a couple days later, in a shallow hospital bath, an oxygen tank rattling next to him. In patches where he had scales, some of them had fallen away, the flesh beneath them raw and red. His gills flared and restricted in the water, ragged, not quite healed.

He didn’t wake up until Hanamiya had been there nearly an hour. He came up slowly, blinking. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Hanamiya said, soft, “you did good.”

“Hara…”

“He’s okay. They haven’t let me see him yet, but he’s okay.” He leaned over the tub, wishing he had something better to say.

Furuhashi’s head rested against the side of the tub. “You look like shit, boss.”

Hanamiya laughed. “I haven’t slept in almost three days, you asshole.”

Furuhashi’s mouth curved up, just a little. “Sorry about that.”

Hanamiya rubbed his face with both hands. “Are you gonna come back to work?”

What whisper of a smile there was faded away. Furuhashi wheezed when he let out a breath. “I don’t think so.”

#

Riko and Kiyoshi were on the same boat, overseeing the cleanup. It was Riko’s doing, they hadn’t had a chance to talk since the incident.

Riko pulled Kiyoshi aside when the first chance she got. There wasn’t much of a way to talk privately on the crowded boat, so they stood shoulder to shoulder, heads bent in toward each other, murmuring. “How’s Hanamiya doing?”

“I don’t know.” Kiyoshi shook water off of his coat. It had started to drizzle again. “I haven’t seen him. He’s been at the hospital, mostly.” It would be a relief when he could go back to his usual rounds, go back to routine.

“How are you?” She handed him a thermos--Riko could hardly leave the house without coffee, and as it was, they drank practically the same thing.

Kiyoshi sighed, glad for something hot. Being out on the bay for hours every day could make you forget what heat felt like. He burned the tip of his tongue on the coffee. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it.” It seemed like every hour he wasn’t asleep in the last couple weeks he’d been on a boat.

Riko leaned under the shelter of the roof, trying to keep out of the rain. “Imayoshi’s been hanging around the waterfront again. Is something happening there? I know, I know, you don’t know. Would you let him back, though?”

Kiyoshi took another swallow of coffee. Let him back. He wasn’t sure what that even meant, at this point. “Maybe. If he wanted to come back. If he worked it out with Makoto, too.”

Riko sighed. “I will never understand what you saw in them.”

Kiyoshi smiled against the lid of the thermos. “You wanted to strangle Momoi when you first met her.” They’d been new to Regulation then, Riko had hardly missed an opportunity to complain when she ran into Momoi.

“Shut up.” Riko smiled in spite of herself. “Besides, that’s different.”

“How so?”

“There’s only one of her to deal with.” Riko took the thermos from him, taking a swallow of coffee. She grimaced and looked out over the water. “Crazy, that we wouldn’t even know a slick had gotten this close.”

Kiyoshi stuck his hands in his pockets, hoping to put some degree of warmth back in them. “Araki’s talking about putting up a new division to keep an eye on the coast, full time.”

“Little late for that, don’t you think?”

Kiyoshi shrugged. Rain dripped down the collar of his coat, and he shivered.

 


	11. Gray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who left comments and encouraged me to finish this fic, it wouldn't have happened without you. While this is the last chapter, it's unlikely to be the last time I visit this particular AU, so you may be hearing from other characters (such as that siren and the fortune teller with the pretty fingers) sometime in the future. Thank you so much for reading what is absolutely one of my most ambitious fic projects, I'm very happy to have written this for you. :)

Sakurai met Imayoshi down by the docks. He seemed calm, watching the occasional flash of silver as a mermaid slipped away. They’d been unusually quiet, since the night with the slick. If he hadn’t known about the slick, he even could have called it peaceful.

“Are you sure that’s all you want me to do?” Sakurai rested his chin in his hand. “After you introduced me to those guys at Kirisaki, I thought for sure you’d want me to do something with them.”

“I’ve had a change of heart.” Imayoshi put his hands on the rail, watching the Regulation boats, skimming oil off the water, hauling out rusty, warped pieces of steel twenty, forty feet long. The wind still had a metallic smell when it came off the bay, but the water seemed clearer already.

Imayoshi looked more invigorated than Sakurai had seen him in weeks. “You’ve taken care of our mutual acquaintance?”

“Of course.” Sakurai glanced at him. “He won’t be causing you anymore trouble.” He straightened up, taking the heavy envelope Imayoshi offered him, tucking it into the inside of his coat.

“Good.” Imayoshi put a cigarette to his lips. “I’d stay low for a while, if I were you. Regulation might be a bit preoccupied, right now, but they will come looking for you, eventually.” He seemed pleased with himself, in a way he hadn’t in a great long while since Sakurai had first met him.

The sky rumbled, threatening rain. “I thought I’d take a vacation,” Sakurai said. He stepped over a stream of runoff rolling down off the walk. “Someplace warmer. Dryer.”

Imayoshi gave him a wry smile. “Send me a postcard.”

#

The day they discharged Hara from the hospital, Yamazaki came to pick him up. Ashen gray clouds stretched across the sky, and seagulls wheeled over the streets. “How’re you feeling?”

Hara shrugged, and leaned against the car window. He hadn’t been sleeping well. Every time he closed his eyes he saw fire. The doctor’s hadn’t offered him a sleep aid, and he hadn’t asked.

It was a few minutes before Hara noticed they weren’t heading back to the shop, or his apartment. “Where are we going?”

“Waterfront.” Yamazaki turned on the radio. “Somebody wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Hara stared at him. Yamazaki offered him a stick of gum. “Here. You’re too quiet, it’s making me nervous.”

Hara took the gum, and laughed. “Yeah, the last time I was this quiet I jumped off a boat.”

“Yeah, I should have thrown you back in when Furuhashi fished you out.” Yamazaki smiled.

“I wondered… why I didn’t see him while I was in the hospital.”

Yamazaki glanced at him. “Didn’t we tell you he was okay?”

“Did you?” Hara couldn’t remember. His hospital stay was a miserable blur.

“God, you didn’t think he died and we just didn’t tell you?”

Hara shrugged. “I was pretty sure I was dying.”

“Fuck. If I’d known--”

“It doesn’t matter.” Hara leaned over, turning up the radio. “D’you think you can drive me around a little more after this? There’s something I need to do.”

Yamazaki blinked. “Uh--yeah, sure.”

“Thanks.”

The drive was only a few more minutes, and Hara didn’t say much, letting the relief settle in him. Yamazaki parked a little distance away, and gestured the rocks. “I’ll wait back here. Take a nap, or something.”

“Whatever.” Hara took another piece of gum and got out of the car. The pavement was still dark from the rain, sand gathering in the rivets and cracks. He’d met Furuhashi here a few times, after he’d gone out for a swim. He knew the way down the rocks to meet the water, without slipping and breaking his neck.

His hands were still a little bit shaky, but he got down the rocks without much incident, hardly noticing the cold.

Hara sat on the rocks near the bottom, pressing hands over the scars on his arms as if he thought he could hide them.

The water was dark, not much sign of anything. He shivered, wishing he’d brought a coat.

The water parted, and Furuhashi’s head broke the surface. Hara supposed he should have expected that Furuhashi would have new scars, too, but seeing them was something different. Hara hugged his arms across his chest. “Hey.”

Furuhashi braced his arms on the rocks and pulled himself up, sitting next to Hara. His gills sealed with a reluctant sound, and his breath rasped in his throat. “Hey.”

Hara folded his arms over his knees. “Going back to the water, huh?”

Furuhashi’s face had the slightest shifts, Hara had only just started to figure them out. “Yeah. It’s harder to breathe, up here.”

Hara felt guilt like a rock in his stomach. He hadn’t noticed, before then, the wheeze that had crept into Furuhashi’s breathing. “Are you okay, man?”

“I’m fine.” Furuhashi said it too quickly. “How are you?”

“I mean I’m not gonna say I haven’t been a lot fucking better.” Hara rubbed his scars half-consciously. “But I’ve also been worse, I guess.”

For a minute or two, neither of them said much of anything. “If I’d known what you were going to do--” Furuhashi started.

“You’d probably have done it yourself. Because you’re an idiot.” Hara snapped his gum. Static tickled his ear. He’d gotten a little better about containing the current, while he’d been stuck in that hospital. Seto said he should work on it, focusing it. He could probably do a lot more. “And don’t say you wouldn’t have, I know you wouldn’t have brought me along at all if Zaki hadn’t caught you.”  

Furuhashi didn’t say anything to that.

Hara picked at a clump of slimy weeds clinging to the rock he was seated on. “I probably won’t be able to see you for a while,” he said. “I’m gonna ask Yamazaki to get some of my stuff, and I’m gonna check into rehab.”

Furuhashi looked surprised. “Really?”

“Seemed like it was about time,” Hara muttered, staring at his feet. “Gone through most of the worst shit already, anyway. Can only go up from here, right?” He tried to smile.

“Are you going to go back to work, afterward?”

Hara chewed his bottom lip. “I dunno. I’d like to.”

They went quiet again, and Furuhashi leaned over. His lips were cold, and tasted like brine. Hara tensed in surprise. He’d never been this close to Furuhashi.

Furuhashi pulled back, and looked away. “Sorry.” Then, with just a touch of resentment--“You scared the fuck out of me when you jumped.”

Hara hesitated, just a moment, and put his hand on Furuhashi’s arm, pulling him back. His mouth warmed under Hara’s, with a gentle kiss that made Hara ache. Furuhashi put a hand on Hara’s neck, cool fingers dripping saltwater under his collar. Hara thought, he could stay like this a while longer, he wished they’d done this sooner.

After, Furuhashi’s face was flushed, just the faintest bit. Beyond that, his face looked the same as it always did.

His wheezing sounded worse. “I need to go,” Furuhashi said, soft.

Hara let go of his arm, and nodded. “I’ll come see you as soon as I’m out.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for you.” Furuhashi slid off the rocks, bobbing for a moment with just his head and shoulders above the water. “Don’t do anything that might get you killed.”

Hara smiled. “Right. Won’t always have you to drag me out of the fire.”

Furuhashi nodded, and disappeared under the water. A flash of silver, and he was gone.

Hara sighed, and lifted his face toward the sky. On a nicer day, the sun would have felt nice. Now, just the cold wind brushed over him, and Hara shivered again. His fingers were going numb.

He climbed up the rocks, mindful of his grip. The wind was starting to pick up, waves stirring the bay. He looked back when he got to the top, and spotted Furuhashi watching him from a distance out in the water. He raised a hand in a wave, and smiled when Furuhashi returned it.

Yamazaki was dozing in the car when Hara got back, the heater running, growling like a cornered stray. Hara warmed his hands at the vent, rubbing movement back into his fingers.

“Where to?” Yamazaki asked.

“My place. I have a favor to ask.”

#

Seto yawned, rolling his shoulders. It took him a moment to register Yamazaki arranging potted plants in the windowsill, frowning at a notepad on the counter. “Where did those come from?”

“Furuhashi’s place,” Yamazaki said, his frown deepening as he moved pots around. “I figured he won’t be able to take care of them anymore, so…”

“You figured, huh?”

Yamazaki shrugged. “Hara brought it up.”

Seto stretched and stood, working out a crick in his neck. “Most of these are half-dead already.” He leaned over to take a look. “Do you know anything about plants?”

“Not really,” Yamazaki admitted. “I sent Hara off with a couple that looked okay. Furuhashi had notes.” He gestured the notepad. “So, I just have to figure it out.”

Seto didn’t comment on how busy Yamazaki had been keeping himself, these days. Busy enough that Hanamiya had charged Seto with keeping an eye on their new recruit, which kept Seto out of the shop more than he liked.

“Where’s Hanamiya, anyway?” Yamazaki asked.

“He went somewhere with Kiyoshi,” Seto yawned. “Something about coffee and catching up.” He shrugged. “Think he might be softening up a bit. Next thing we know, he’ll be domestic again.”

Something caught the corner of Seto’s eye, and he leaned toward the window to look. “Are they working on that empty shop? Did somebody finally lease it?”

Yamazaki was clipping dead leaves, their skeletal husks skittering down to the floor. “Boss did.”

Seto leaned up against the door frame. “And why’d he do that?”

Yamazaki leaned on the counter. “I dunno. He didn’t say.”

#

“I’m giving it up.” Imayoshi said it without any prelude, any explanation. He was watching a pair of harpies on the rooftops, squabbling in their odd, screeching way.

Hanamiya nearly choked on his coffee. He set the paper cup aside, staring at Imayoshi like he couldn’t make up his mind whether or not he’d heard right. “What the fuck do you mean you’re giving it up?”

Kiyoshi stirred sugar and creamer into his coffee, watching the color shift. “Cost-benefit analysis,” he said, “that’s it, isn’t it?”

Imayoshi nodded, slow, considering. “Yes. Yes, that’s it.” He rubbed a shoulder, grimacing. His coffee was going cold, untouched. “The long-term effects were… unanticipated.”

Hanamiya shoved his hands in his coat pockets staring at the weather-worn surface of the table they had claimed. “That’s becoming a bit of a theme with you, isn’t it?”

The harpies squawked, and laughed at some shared joke. Imayoshi rested his elbows on the table. “I suppose it is.”

The three of them were quiet for a bit, each staring off in a different direction. “So what are you going to do, then?” Hanamiya asked. “Metromancy’s what you’re known for.”

“I don’t know yet.” Imayoshi folded his hands. “I’ll just have to see.”

Kiyoshi put his coffee down. “There’s some reorganizing going on at Regulation--”

“If you’re about to tell me I should go to work for Regulation, Teppei, don’t.” Imayoshi finally looked at him. “I have other aspirations.”

“I only meant to say,” Kiyoshi murmured. “That it may be a while before officers come sniffing around, to see what you’ve been doing.”

Imayoshi rubbed his wrist, soothing an ache. “I see.”

Hanamiya sighed, and looked at the other two. “We need to talk.”

#

“Still so fucking cloudy,” Hara muttered, his head against the window.”Is the sun even real because I’m beginning to doubt it.”

“It’s because we’re going into winter, jackass.” Seto was sitting behind the counter, covering for Yamazaki. He sipped his coffee, turning slowly through the newspaper. “You were gone for the sunny days.”

Hara’s hair was flattened against the glass. “I guess.”

“How’re you adjusting to being back?” Seto asked.

“Okay, I guess.” He’d been living in the space above the shop, where everyone could keep an eye on him. He actually seemed to sleep these days, which was encouraging. Most nights one of them would stick around, because sometimes he woke up screaming. Those nights they were worried he’d start an electrical fire.

The drugs were gone. They’d stopped selling them. Their income had taken a hit, but something else would come up. It always did. They’d obtained a few pieces of the slick that had sold for quite a hefty price, and that would tide them over.

Hara snapped his gum and sat up, arms draped around his knees. “When’re they gonna get here, anyway?”

“Any minute now,” Seto yawned. “Boss is out, and Matsumoto is downtown, so they had to cover it.”

“What’s going on with Hanamiya, anyway?” Hara rocked his chair on its back two legs, restless as always. “He seems… different. And Kiyoshi and Imayoshi are always hanging around, now.”

“Answered your own question, didn’t you?”

Hara snorted, rocking his chair with his feet anchored on the window sill. Yamazaki would yell at him if he saw that. “Guess I missed a lot, while I was gone.”

“Not that much,” Seto said, doodling in the margins of the newspaper. “Not compared to blowing up something in the bay, anyhow.”

Yamazaki’s car pulled up alongside the curb. Hara dropped his feet to the floor and opened up the door, the bell jangling. He took the first box from Yamazaki, and stopped, holding the door open with a foot. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Furuhashi’s voice still wasn’t what it once was, but it was better. He’d never been much of a talker, anyway.

Nobody had seen him smoke since Hara left, which was maybe the most remarkable thing.

“You wanna get lunch after this?” Hara asked. “I’m fucking starving.”

 

 


End file.
